


Marriage for Murder

by MindWideOpen



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1930s, F/M, Great Depression, Murder, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-05 13:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14045112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindWideOpen/pseuds/MindWideOpen
Summary: She would kill for that house. She had nothing left. No family. No money. Just her name and that house. When the handsome Mr. Harold Colby purchases it out from under her after the tragic murder of her beloved brother, she swears to herself to do anything at all within her control to make sure she gets that house back. *Title subject to change because is absolutely terrible.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've given myself one rule in my writing, which I am now intentionally breaking. I promised myself I would never start another story with one unfinished. I first want to say I WILL be finishing Savage Love. I have not written this story because I'm stuck or out of ideas. I've simply had this in my brain and have had some trouble getting it out. (the tremendous amounts of Agatha Christie I am currently reading does not help either (though this is not a murder mystery). When I have sat down to write Savage Love, I feel like the quality is just not there, even though I know exactly what I want to write, so here I am. Hopefully none of you will be too angry with me.
> 
> This story will be closer in style to Lassoed Hearts, so if you didn't like that one, you probably won't like this one. 
> 
> Thanks!

The water had been turned off some months before and so the young and beautiful Miss Edna Louise Standstead was forced to walk passed the ugly chips missing from the once vibrant red door, over the rotting wood deck overlooking the decayed garden her mother had loved so much, toward the little red well tucked between the trees that once held the tire swing she and her brother had loved so much.

She pulled the bucket upward and splashed her face with the cold water. Her slender hands trembled, her usually pale skin as flushed red. It took her a moment to regain her composure, but she soon did. A dreadful calm overtook her and she pulled the pearls from around her neck. She removed the rings from her hands. With gritted teeth and a vicious scowl she ripped the earrings from her ears. A strangled cry left her with a gush of air and she threw it all into the bucket. She lowered the bucket back down into the well. She fought the groan as her torn earlobes wept dark tears onto her white gown. Her favorite gown.

She turned back toward the house. She pressed the back of her hand to her nose and screwed her eyes shut. She shook her head, eyes still closed, but knew when to lift her foot and step onto the rotting deck. She stepped back into the kitchen, lifting her foot over the body lying on the kitchen floor. If she turned her head to look she would find him lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling with wide, glossy eyes, jaw bent to the side, the axe sunk so deeply into his chest, it stuck deeply into the wood beneath.

She picked up the handkerchief she had wrapped around the handle of the axe when she brought it in from father's workshop. She shoved the stained fabric into the top of her shirt, securing it safely between her breasts, where no officer, no matter his thoroughness, would dare look. No thought was involved as she climbed the stairs. She did a number of circles in the hallway, breathing hard in and out through her nose, eyes pressed shut, readying herself.

She threw herself down the stairs with a sudden push. She bounded off the walls, slammed into the staircase, and hit the ground with a painful and resounding thud. She moaned in pain but pushed herself to her feet. The front door opened with a bang. A hinge broke as she flung it open but it did not stop her. She put fingers to her nose, pleased to find them red when she pulled them away. She raised a hand and dragged them across the white pillar.

Mrs. Vance and her son were the ones to find her wandering down the windy dirt road toward town. She jumped out of her rotting piece of tin before her son was able to bring it to a halt.

"Miss Louise! Miss Louise!" Mrs. Vance called. "Oh, dear God. Look at you! Tommy, help me, for God's sake, Tom, get her in the car."

"Walt… Walter he… he's dead," Louise muttered. She licked a bit of blood from her bottom lip. "He…"

"Hush, child. Do not speak. Oh goodness, that arm! That arm is broken. Most certainly broken!"

Louise glanced down. Sure, enough her wrist was at a terribly unsettling angle. She had hardly even noticed it. It was frightfully warm out. She was sweating. Her white gown clung to her with sweat and blood.

"Tommy, please! For goodness sakes, help me!"

Tom put an arm around her middle, but was careful to avoid her broken arm. He put her in the middle seat before running around the other side to assist his mother into the car. Mrs. Vance continued to fuss over her.

"Tom turn around. To Dr. Broedecker, no. Go on now," Mrs. Vance directed. They bumped along the road at terrific speed and Louisa almost began to smile. The wind felt heavenly in her hair. She tilted her face upward toward the sun. It came through in patched through the trees.

"Oh, sweet girl. We will see you to Dr. Broedecker at once!" Mrs. Vance promised. She prattled on but Louisa did not listen. Instead, she thought of the soft thump the axe had made as it sunk into his chest.

Once in town she was swept into Dr. Broedecker's clinic. He continued to charge for luxuries, but emergencies he would never turn away.  _I took an oath!_ he would shout at his wife when she scolded him for giving away services.  _How are we to pay for bread, Morris! I took an oath, Hilde!_

She was put into a bed and given a shot in the arm. Her eyes became heavy and finally a smile did come to her face. Mrs. Vance continued to tell him how they came upon Louisa. Dr. Broedecker's son, having attending three years of medical school before he could no longer afford tuition, grabbed the shotgun and left with Tom for the Homestead. Mrs. Vance kept prattling. Dr. Broedecker ignored her, face grim as he examined her arm.

"Very broken, very broken," he murmured. His accent was slight. He had come from Austria when he was a young man, but it became stronger in moments of great stress. She had no memory of him setting the bone or of Hilde washing her face.

When she awoke the next day she was tucked in the caught, arm casted in plaster. Her body ached, but she was not in a great deal of pain. One of her eyes was swollen, her skin was discolored, but otherwise, she suffered no real injuries.

Chief Brown stood in the room, hat beneath his arm, face dragged down in a severe frown. His gray hair was combed impeccably, his old boots shined to the best of his ability, deep lines around his eyes.

"Miss Edna," he greeted her. She did not correct him. She'd known him since she was a little girl. He had been great friends with papa before he left. "I am so sorry, Miss Edna."

"He's dead," she said. She knew that already. She'd known it the moment she struck him with the pan. The axe had been pure and simple rage. She had walked from the house, limbs trembling with hate and anger so potent that there had been very little thought involved, though nor did she think she had been out of her mind. She had picked the axe for more than just it's ease and availability.

"Yes, Miss Edna. He is."

She nodded. She looked to her bedside table and picked up a glass of water. She took a few sips.

"We picked up the man we think did it."

She looked up sharply.

"He was running down passed the old Mill. Had stolen good from the Munson place and the Gallagher place. Did you get a look at him? Could you pick him out for us?"

"I… I don't think…" her eyes hurt to move a bit. She shook her head.

"Don't you worry, Miss," Chief Brown said. He came closer and patted her shoulder gently. "Says he did it. We just need you to say it so."

"She must rest, Inspector. Women with weak constitutions… she must not exert herself or she may become hysterical," Dr. Broedecker said from the corner of the room, massive arms folded over a broad chest and resting on his massive belly.

"When can she come to the station?"

"Allow me to dress," Louise said over the doctor's sputtering protests. "I am well enough now."

"No, no, no," Broedecker was arguing.

"Mr. Brown. Chief Brown, sorry," Henry, Broedecker's son, greeted stepping into the room. "A man here from New York for Miss Standstead."

"Who is it?" she asked, putting her water on the side table. She knew very well who it was. He had been expected that day. Walter would have done better to wait to tell her until he was driving up the driveway.

"A Mr. Medway?" Henry said.

"See him in please," Louise said rather imperiously. She was a small woman. Short and slender, but the intensity of her dark brown eyes, even peering out from two swollen, purple eye sockets, always made her appear larger than she was. Before either the doctor or the chief could protest Henry darted from the room.

"Miss Edna, truly –"

"He is my lawyer," she answered. "He controlled the trust before Walter came of age. He must have heard what happened…." Her voice trailed off toward the end. She lowered her gaze. Mr. Medway came marching into the room grim faced. He was a tall man of about fifty, with brown hair and hazel eyes. His nose was a bit large and his eyebrows were bushy, but he was a well put together man. He wore a grey suit, double breasted.

"Louise," he greeted. He pulled up a chair and sat beside her. He was shaking his head, ignoring everyone else in the room. "My condolences, Louise. Walter was a good man."

"He was," she agreed sadly. She forced a smile. Medway was rummaging through his things. He pulled a stack of paper from his brief case and rested them on top.

"Now, I will be needing your signature on a few documents," Medway said. "Shouldn't take long. Your brother had already done the hard part. I'll show you where to sign."

He put the briefcase in her lap. Broedecker looked outraged. Henry watched curiously. Chief Brown looked annoyed.

"She cannot be signing legal documents in this state!" Broedecker blustered.

"Please, sirs, if I might have a few moments with Mr. Medway?" Louise asked. After a short disagreement, everyone filed out of the room but she and Mr. Medway.

"What are the documents, sir?" she asked. She was examining the documents closely. Her brain was a bit fuzzy. She was having trouble understanding the legalese.

"Transfer of title and other documents," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "As I am sure you are aware, your brother found a buyer for the house, sight unseen, for damn near your asking price. Forgive me, for very near your asking price. New money, ready to spend it," he said with a smile. "Of course, I will take my fee, but you will have little problem finding a fine townhouse in the city with your proceeds and will live quite comfortably. Now, just here, if you would sign?"

She examined the papers. Her eyes were that of a hawk, moving over every word carefully. She filed through to the sale price. She wanted to scoff but did not. She kept her face impassive. She collected the papers, slapped them once on the briefcase to straighten them, and handed them back to Medway.

"I will not sign, sir," she said. "That home was built by my great-grandfather. I will not sell it."

Medway froze. His eyes were a bit wide, his bushy brows elevated, chapped lips parted beneath a well-trimmed mustache.

"Miss Louise, I am afraid you have no choice?" he said after some meaningful reflection. "Your brother… he signed the papers… these are... formalities."

She blinked. Walt had not told her that.

"Then what is the point of the signing?"

"You could… theoretically, back out of the sale, but Mr. Colby, the buyer, he would have grounds to sue for breach of contract. Very good grounds. And he would win. Miss Louise, the only way you could pay off the judgement would be… sale of the home. And I assure you, it will be for a great deal less than he is graciously offering you now."

"Graciously," she whispered. She heard the wet thud of the axe. She swallowed thickly. Her throat ached. Her arm dropped, the papers falling to the bed. "Forgive me, Mr. Medway, but I am quite tired. My brother, you know, has been murdered by a madman. Perhaps, a week or so reprieve, and I can meet you in your office in New York to discuss the details?"

"I… yes, I am sure Mr. Colby will agree to wait a week or two for the sale to be finalized… given the circumstances."

"Thank you," she answered. He put the papers back into his briefcase and he stood. He looked her over grimly and gave a nod.

"I am truly sorry, Louise. Truly sorry," he said. She forced a smile and nodded. He left without another word.

"Damn you, Walt," she whispered. She looked up to the ceiling. "Damn you."

"Miss Standstead, you need not,  _must_ not go to the station right now. It will through you into hysterics, so much stress for such a long lady. A week or more of rest, then you may go."

"We need an identification doctor. A week will not do."

"Do I have clothing?" Louise inquired? "If I might get dressed, I will go to the station."

"Mrs. Vance brought fresh clothing for you yesterday," Dr. Broedecker admittedly reluctantly. "But Miss Standstead."

"I thank you, for your help, Doctor, but I am not so badly injured as to face the man that murdered my dear brother," she said. He gave a tight smile. Chief Brown excused himself so she could dress. Dr. Broedecker followed him.

"She has not even cried," the doctor was saying. "A woman not crying… means only one thing. She is in shock. Hysterics come next."

The door shut and Mrs. Broedecker came in with her clothing a few moments later. She helped Louise dress. The cast was problematic, but they made do with some scissors and ribbon.

Chief Brown got her in the old police car gingerly. They drove slowly through town. Many glanced in their direction. Louise ignored their curious glances. She continued to hear that wed thud. The buzzing in her ears when he told her the house would be sold.

And who was this man that confessed? She thought to ask but decided to stay silent instead. She would know soon enough.

There was a slight crowed outside of the station. Many called to her as she stepped outside. She did not hear their words, but offered a sad little smile and waved her broken hand to them. It ached dully. She would like another shot when she was done. She stepped inside. The three other policeman on the force were there, arms crossed over their chests, seated on their desks, greeting her with curt nods and murmurs of condolences.

"Now, Miss Louise, we're going to bring you to a room. You'll be able to see him, but he won't see you, alright?"

She nodded.

"Thompson. Stand by her, in case she faints," Chief Brown ordered. Once again, Louise was fighting off a scoff of contempt. She was lead through the station. She saw the man immediately. He was seated at a table, wrists handcuffed, eyes wide and confused. He looked dazed, like he did not know where he was. It did not take long to realize he was an idiot. A simple man with a simple brain caught too close to a murder with the fruits of his petty crimes. He was rubbing his hands together in front of him, looking around anxiously. He rocked back and forth.

"Can I go now?" he called.

"That's him," she whispered with a fleeting feeling of guilt. "He killed my brother and… and through me down the stairs…"

Chief Brown nodded grimly and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Thank you, Louise, we'll send you back on to the clinic now," he promised. She nodded.

"Thank you, sir, I… I am so tired. My poor brother. Poor Walt. He'd never hurt a fly you know."

"I know, Miss Edna. I know. That man in there will hang for what he's done. I promise."

"Poor Walt," she whispered again. Her face contorted and she put her hands to her face. Her tears were genuine, her pain grief, but they were not spilled for her naïve, idiot brother, but for the poor, simple man in the next room, that would soon meet death for a crime that was most entirely her own.


	2. Chapter Two

_Chapter Two:_

Sitting in the exclusive back room of  _Tout va Bien,_ sucking on a cigarette greedily, and reading with keen interest the front-page story of the Times, was a well-dressed, clean-shaven man in a dark blue suit and perfectly polished black shoes. His companion read the identical story in a paper of his own, leaning back in his chair, clicking his lips every time he read something of interest.

"Poor girl saw the whole thing, she testified. Saw him hit right over the head with the pan. 'A sickening wet thud,' she called it. The axe I mean," Hastings told him. Harold Colby looked at him from behind his paper, dark eyes shining with annoyance.

"I am reading the same paper as you," he commented dryly. He straightened out the paper, coughed, and brought his cigarette back to his lips.

"A pretty young thing. Poor girl. You did right, no matter what your brother says, waiting on the sale. Civility should never be put aside, no matter the state of the economy," Hastings continued, despite the clear sourness of Harold's mood. "I suppose with the trial over, you will be finalizing papers."

"Indeed," Harold answered. "I have an appointment with Mr. Medway tomorrow at noon. If you would like to accompany me, I plan on viewing the house this coming Saturday."

He licked his thumb and turned the page of the paper.

"I'll have to ask Ida, but I'm sure she'll say yes. May hasn't been feeling well this week. She's already missed three days of school and the baby's been a handful for her," he explained. Harold nodded thoughtfully.

"Odd, that this man would kill the brother and simply toss her down the stairs," Harold considered.

"Man was simple." Hastings taped his temple. "No use trying to find a motive for that kind of thing. This depression's had us all on edge I think, but none more so than the simple."

Harold hummed in a non-committal manner. A server arrived to top off his coffee. He drank it black. The server left without saying a word. He knew better than to disturb Harold Colby when he was in the paper.

"There's some land out west I've been looking at," Hastings said, slapping down the paper.

"We'll talk about that after we sell the property upstate," Harold answered. He folded his own newspaper and tucked it underneath his arm. He brought his coffee cup to his lips. "I'd rather not be spread too thin."

"Harry, you built this company by taking risks. This is a sure thing," Hastings said, jabbing at the table.

"No risk is a sure thing. By definition it is no sure thing," Harold countered. He took one last drag of his cigarette and jabbed at the ashtray. "Now, if you'll excuse me." He tossed bills down on the table. "I have to meet that banker. Goldman."

"Do I have your permission then?" Hastings asked, stretching an arm outward.

"No," Harold said simply. He walked out of the glass doors blocking off the smoking from non-smoking rooms. He was a tall man, always a head above the rest, and handsome, but that was the least of why he drew gazes. He owned a significant amount of real estate in the city, had saved and expanded his father's small, but now immensely successful engineering firm, and rumor had it, had bought by chance over three hundred acres in California, rife with gold, and he was one of the most eligible and sought after bachelors on the East coast; New money or not.

So used was he to the curious glances of those around him, that he missed the intent and curious gaze from the dark haired woman nestled in the corner.

* * *

"So, what're you going to do?" Jim asked over his whiskey.

"I suppose putting an axe in his chest would be out of the question?" Louise asked. She was dressed well. None would know she had not a penny to her name, thanks to her coward father and idiot brother. She was still waiting on the insurance money for the jewels she had thrown down the well.

"Not so loud, Liza," Jim scolded. He sipped at his drink He ran a hand through his hair. She stirred her tea slowly. She watched Jim finished his drink and wave a finger to the server. "Besides," he murmured after the waiter delivered a second whiskey. "There would just be another buyer. Your brother made a right mess of things."

"There is nothing you could do?" she asked him. Jim shook his head.

"Money's all tied up. You know I would if I could, darling," he said. He reached out to touch her hand.

"I can't lose that house," she whispered. "I can't lose it…"

"Could marry him. You'd keep it then," Jim murmured. Their food was placed in front of them and both remained silent until the server left. She asked for another cup of tea and Jim called for another whiskey. "Got more money than I'll ever have."

"I don't care about money. If I did I would never have agreed to marry you," she said. Jim looked up with tender eyes. She added, "I care about the house."

Jim cut into his chicken. "Well, marry him and might be you'll get robbed again. Happened to your brother, it'll easily happen to him," Jim said, eyes twinkling over at her. He smiled and raised a bite to her lips. Louise pushed her food around with her fork but did not eat. She was not hungry.

"That's not such a bad idea, you know," she murmured. Her lifted her eyes to meet Jim's. If he had showed any sort of hesitance she would have laughed it off as a joke, called him ridiculous and waved for a gin martini to be brought to her, but his gaze was thoughtful and far from horrified.

"If you could get him to marry you, wouldn't be such a bad idea at all," he agreed slowly. "And all that money of his…"

"Robbery wouldn't work though," she mused. She raised her cup to her lips and murmured into the tea. "Too suspicious."

"Or just a poor woman with tragic luck living in a cursed house," he leaned over the table toward her. "No one believed for a second you lift that axe. No one ever even considered you."

"And I would prefer to keep it that way," she answered coldly. "No," she murmured. "Two lives are enough."

"Two?"

"Charles Bonofet," she reminded. "The man going to the chair in three weeks for my brother's murder."

Jim grunted and leaned back to continue eating his meal.

"Criminal. He'd have been picked up at some point. You've saved a lot of people a lot of trouble," he said.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore."

He looked up at the sound of the strain in her voice. She touched her forehead, it was hot and clammy, and he moved as if to stand. She waved a hand and he remained where he was.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "Hurry and finish," she ordered, picking up her own utensils. "I've a meeting with Mr. Medway at two o'clock and I do not wish to be late."

Jim nodded and finished off a whiskey, before raising a finger and calling for another.

* * *

Louise sat down before Medway alone. Jim had wanted to go with her but she thought it better he not. He was a passionate man and Louise feared how it might affect her relationship with Medway if he knew she was engaged. She examined the papers before herself carefully. Her mind was no longer in such a terrible haze.

"Did you explain to him the situation," Louise tried. "That I do not wish to sell?"

"He is a tenacious man, Louise. He will not go quietly," Medway said gravely. Louise looked back down to the papers.

"What about my insurance money? For the jewelry taken? Surely, if I offered him that money…"

"Louise, I was going to inform you of is afterward…"

"What?" she asked.

"Your brother…  _you…_ owe the bank quite a bit of money. Any money you get from insurance… and it will not be a lot, will go straight to the bank."

Her knuckles turned white. She lamented her brother's death, only because she wished to kill him all over again.

"Those pearls were injured for thirty thousand pounds," she said, eyebrows raising. Her teeth caught her bottom lip and her eyes burned.

"Your brother… he canceled the insurance your father had taken out on your mother's pearls… all of her jewelry. He invested it. The policy he took out will yield… two hundred dollars."

"Two hundred dollars," she whispered. "Excuse me."

She pushed herself up to her feet. She needed some air and told him as much.

"Please, just sign, I will take care of everything," Medway assured her.

"I will sign tomorrow," she said. She picked up her coat. "I cannot now."

"Miss Louise, you  _must._ Mr. Colby will be arriving tomorrow to settle things. I need your signature."

"Tomorrow," she said, resolve hardening. "I will come tomorrow and meet with Mr. Colby. As is proper. What time should I arrive?"

"Louise…"

"What. Time."

"Noon," he answered. She gave a nod and examined her coat cuffs.

"Then I will see you at noon," she answered with a tight smile. With a flourish, she was out the door.

* * *

He seated in the waiting room when the young woman stepped off the elevator, draped in a dark coat with a fur collar. One could see where her earlobes had been ripped open. She was smaller than he thought she'd be. Her eyes were terribly intense, dark and piercing. Her hair, which had grown since trial, ended just about shoulders, was a dark shade of brown, and tastefully curled. He examined her openly from behind his paper. His cigarette was burning down between his finger-tips. His eyes narrowed as he looked her over and he took a puff. Her presence here was an interesting surprise.

"Miss Standstead," the pleasant receptionist greeted with a smile. "You can go right in and wait in Mr. Medway's office."

"Thank you, Clara," Miss Standstead said. She had a pleasant voice, soft, feminine, but not as high as one might expect based on her looks. Her eyes found him almost immediately. It was a small waiting room, and he was it's only other occupant.

"Mr. Colby?" she asked. He examined her a moment longer before folding his newspaper and rising to his feet. She eyed his cigarette critically. He switched the cigarette into his left hand an extended his right.

"Miss Standstead," he answered, his voice a low rumble. She examined his hand, considering whether or not to take it, and then reached out. "A pleasure. Allow me to extend my condolences."

"Thank you, sir," she had a tight smile on her face. "Mr. Medway tells me there is nothing I can do to convince you not to buy my home?"

He hesitated, embarrassed by her forwardness.

"I am afraid not," he answered rather coldly.

"I have ten thousand in savings," she told him. "Back out and its yours."

He released her hand, his cold smile becoming sourer.

"I cannot be bought, Miss Standstead."

"And if I refused to sign the papers… would you bring a young girl who has just recently witnessed the vicious murder of her brother into court to take it from her?" she asked.

"I am used to getting what I want and I want that house, and please, trust me, Madam, I will get that house, one way or another," he smiled down at her.

"Miss Louise? Mr. Colby. Ah, I see you've met," Mr. Medway came from his officer, grinning nervously.

"We have," Harold smiled. "Now, I've an appointment at four. Should we begin?"

"Of course. This way. Louise?"

They walked down the hall and into a conference room. Medway held out the chair for Miss Standstead, who looked tired and pale, though no less beautiful. He sat down across the table from her, Medway at the head, and retrieved a pen from his pocket. It was the same pen he used to close all of his best investments.

"First… the title, standard quit-claim…"

"Mr. Colby, may I ask you a favor?"

Mr. Medway looked embarrassed.

"You may certainly ask," he replied.

"Miss Louise," Medway murmured.

"After sign these papers, I will have nowhere to live," she told him. "Of course, once I have access to the funds, I may buy a place, with whatever the bank does not take. I humbly request that you allow me to remain in the house until the end of the summer, to make arrangements in relative comfort."

"I will consent to that," he answered. "Medway, if you'd like to draw up a document, I'll lease it to her until September the first, though I will insist I be allowed to walk the grounds and examine the house well prior. With advanced notice of my arrival of course."

"Of course," she answered. She gave a tight smile; Her eyes were hard. "You're too kind."

Harold felt pity for the girl as he signed the papers. He was not a monster, nor did he make it a habit of destroying people's lives in order to advance his own interests, but he was not a charity either. He wanted the house, and despite the fact that he was paying far more money than the house was worth in its current state, he was getting it for significantly less than he might have ten years ago.

It took them a half hour to sign everything. He would read over the document carefully, attach his signature, and then hand it to the young lady across the table. He watched her with interest as she examined the page, taking her time to read every word. Medway tried to assure her there was nothing amiss, that her brother had sorted through everything and she need only sign. She waved a hand at him dismissively and set her jaw determinedly. It brought an admiring lift to his lips.

"Idiot," she murmured more than once, shaking her head, and would then sign her name with a look of utter disdain on her face.

"It was a better deal than he could have hoped for," Medway murmured to her once.

"Then he should have sat on it," she replied with a bite. She was close to tears, that was obvious, but she held herself admirably. He was pleased Walter Standstead had met his untimely end after the deal was made final. She struck him as a shrewd businesswoman, left out of the important decisions due to her sex, but more than capable of running a tight ship with competence and efficiency.

"Do not speak ill of the dead, my dear," Medway scolded gently. He collected the documents and looked through them. "I will file these and write up a quick lease. September the first you said? Will you be charging any fee?"

"No fee," he answered. He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out with his lips and glanced over the table at her. He expected to see gratitude. He received only a hard glare.

"I want a week's notice," she said.

"Two days," he said, raising a hand to cup his cigarette so he could light it. "I'm frightfully busy and I travel extensively." He tilted his head back to blow out a stream of smoke. "I can't plan a visit from the city that far out. Something might come up I cannot control. Two days will suffice."

Something quivered beneath her right eye and she gave a curt nod.

"Two days will suffice," she repeated. She had no bargaining power and she knew it. Medway nodded and left the room. He held out his pack of cigarettes.

"Smoke?"

"No," she answered. "I detest the smell."

He considered putting it out but decided against it.

"I followed your case quite closely," he told her as they waited. She moved her eyes but not her head and looked at him.

"It was not my case," she answered.

"You understand my meaning, of course," he said unapologetically. "Did you ever find your missing jewelry? Odd, they did not find it on him, but found jewelry from two robberies three weeks before."

"He was an idiot," she said. "Hard to explain their behavior."

"Indeed, it is. Well, I am pleased to see you've recovered. I read your injuries were extensive."

"Not so," she answered. "The papers exaggerated. I was lucky."

"Will you attend the execution?" he asked.

"This is hardly appropriate conversation between perfect strangers," she snapped. He sucked on his cigarette, letting the air come rushing from his nostrils.

"Forgive me. It is not every day once meets a celebrity."

She scoffed and shook her head. She looked to the corner of the room. He stamped out his cigarette.

"Why Louise and not Edna?"

"Louis _a_ ," she snapped. "My mother fancied herself French… and I think Edna is an ugly name."

"I think you look like an Edna."

She turned her head sharply.

"I tell you I think it ugly and you tell me it suits me?" she asked.

"A purposeful manipulation of my words," he disagreed, lighting a second cigarette. "I never said  _I_ thought Edna was not a beautiful name."

She pinched her lips together and pushed herself up to feet. She went to gaze out the window. He ran his eyes over the length of her. She had a pleasing shape.

"You will land on your feet," he said disinterestedly. "You are young and beautiful with a name still very much respected in this city. I have no doubts about that."

She turned from her spot at the window to face him but Medway interrupted.

"Here we are," he said, sitting down. He let Harold read it first. He did not sign it, but instead handed it across the table. She scrutinized it.

"Your visits, will they include an accompanying party, or you yourself."

"I may bring my business partner, Mr. Charles Hastings, no others."

She held out the paper with a flourish.

"I want that added."

"And I'd like it said that I may begin renovations, upon reasonable terms, so that they will not disrupt Miss Louis _a._ "

He emphasized the last vowel of her name.

"I have no objections," she murmured and sat down. Medway sighed and then hurried out again.

"I had planned to visit the home this Saturday. To view my new home," he said it on purpose. He was not sure why, but he wanted to raise her ire. "Would that be agreeable to you."

"It is agreeable," she replied rather sarcastically. They fell into silence. He smoked another cigarette and then did not light another. She continued to gaze out the window. Medway returned and they examined the paper. Both agreed to the terms and signed it. With business concluded, they left the conference room and went for the waiting room. Medway asked Miss Standstead if she wished to discuss the estate, if she wished to get a bite to eat. She declined simply, stating she was tired and her host, a dear friend Miss Samantha Croft, who Harold knew surprisingly well, would have lunch ready for her when she returned. They entered the elevator together.

"I am sorry for the loss of your home, Miss Standstead. I am. Truly. I assure you, I'll take good care of it."

"I have no doubt you will," she replied acidly. They were silent until they stepped out onto the street. He hailed a cap and she placed her hat on her head carefully. She was an elegant woman, if sour in her disposition.

"Until Saturday, Miss Standstead?" he asked, pinching the brim of his hat.

"Until Saturday, Mr. Colby," she bid him fair well coldly. She turned and began to walk down the street.

"You are walking?" He leaned on the taxi's open door, calling to her in concern. "We may share a cab!"

"I can take care of myself, Mr. Colby," she turned and walked backwards to answer him. She had a cool smile on her lips. She turned back around. He watched her go, a little tilt to his lips.

"You coming or not?" the driver asked. Colby slipped into the cab after she was out of view.

"70 Broad, please," he pulled a cigarette from his pocket. Sucking smoke into his lungs he shook his head with a little smile still on his lips.


	3. Chapter Three

_Chapter Three:_

She waited in the sitting room where her father used to read to her and Walt when they were younger. Her mother would sitting he corner sewing, smiling softly over at her wonderful little family. She sat in the chair she would later kill herself in. The chair had been removed. It had been soiled with blood, though it had been difficult to get her out of it. It was the last of the major losses she took the time to mourn over. She sat there weeping as they carried out her cold, stiff body. Walt had stood in the corner, stone faced and cold, sucking on his cigarette. They had never said a word to each other about it. When she sat in this room, she would sometimes still hear the gun fire. A little pop from a tiny little pistol. See a flash, though she did not think there was really a flash at the time, and watch her mother's pretty blue sun dress turn red with blood. She still cursed her mother from time to time, for not having the decency to kill herself in private. It was far easier to hate her than miss her.

Sun came shining in through the windows. It was a cheery room. It had always been her favorite room in the house. That changed after her mother's death of course, but she still found herself gravitate toward it. It reminded her of happier times, when her mother was happy, her father was brave, and her brother was loving. A family portrait hung over the marble mantel. The happy little family looked down at her with twinkling eyes and mocking smiles. Where her father ended up after he left, she hoped he was dead in a ditch somewhere. It was no less than he deserved. That her mother and even her cruel brother should be gone, and he alive, seemed grotesquely unjust.

The rumble of the car came to her ears but she remained seated. A lazy glance over her shoulder and she saw the car milling its way up the drive. She knew little of cars, but she knew enough to see it was knew, dark blue and sleek. A soft scowl came to her face. From the window she could see two men in the front seat, arms draped out the open windows, smoke billowing up from the cigarettes between their fingertips.

"They'll not smoke in my house," she said with a determined voice and turned her head to look back around the room. She was dressed modestly, but well. Many of her dresses were from a year before the crash. Not old, though not in season. She would have been embarrassed to be seen wearing them, but many of her friends had moved away, their homes left empty. She doubted these two upstarts knew anything of proper fashion and was not nervous to be seen in her pretty green dress.

She did not rise until she heard the knock on the door. It was a short, commanding, but not overly oppressive knock. She knew it was Mr. Harold Colby. The knock seemed so very much like his personality, though she admittedly knew absolutely nothing of his companion. She glanced at the clock as she entered the hallway. She did not actively slow her movements, but she did not rush either.

The door creaked open, a she greeted them both with the best smile she could muster. She forced herself to examine the newcomer first, though her eyes were drawn to Mr. Colby. The man introduced as Mr. Hastings had a pleasant demeaner and a kind smile, looked to be about ten years older than Colby, forty perhaps, maybe a year or so younger or older, and had rather pretty blue eyes, though she would not call him a handsome man.

"Miss Stanstead. A pleasure to meet you. Allow me to offer my condolences."

She thought if she heard that one more time she might go absolutely insane. She forced another smile and thanked him, removing her hands from his with more force than intended.

"Mr. Colby, good to see you once more," she lied with a convincing smile. He raised his cigarette to his lips and took one more puff before tossing it to the ground and stamping on it. She watched with hard eyes but kept her face pleasant.

"The pleasure is mine," he answered and stretched his hand outward. "You look well."

"I am feeling better. Do come in," she offered and stepped to the side. Hastings was murmuring to Colby.

"Beautiful place, not at all as rundown as I was lead to believe, but if we could continue talking about the land upstate."

"Not now, Charles," Colby dismissed. He twirled his hat in his hands. His hair was combed neatly, he wore a three-piece suit. Overall, his appearance was impeccable. Both were dressed in white suits.

"Are either of you thirsty? Hungry? It may not be so long a drive but it is long enough."

Colby answered in in the negative, Hastings in the affirmative. She deduced the answers were what both considered to be the polite thing to do, based on the exchange of glances between the two of them.

"Will I be needed to provide a tour? Or shall you gentlemen like to look around in private. It is after all, your home now, Mr. Colby."

"A tour is unnecessary and there will be no need to provide us with anything to eat or drink. It is not my desire to cause you any undue burden."

"No burden at all," she answered. "I ask only that you not go into the last room on the left. That is my bedroom."

"Of course not, not at all," Hastings said with a flush of embarrassment.

"I will bring some tea into the sitting room when you're finished examining the house, and some light sandwiches to snack on before you return back to New York," she offered. "If you have any questions, please, do not hesitate to call on me."

Colby gave a slight bow of his head and Hastings thanked her kindly. She moved into the kitchen to begin fulfilling her promise. She heard a single thud upstairs as she busied herself and paused to glance upward in an effort to figure out what it had been. When they came back down the stairs they were speaking to each other, though it was in muffled words that she could not make out. She carried the tray into the sitting room and took her seat. She examined a book but did not open it. She had little desire to read. In truth, she had little desire to do anything. Her days were mostly spent sitting in her loveseat in the living room, staring out the window with glassy eyes and sipping on gin and tonics. She glanced at the clock. It was far to early to make herself a cocktail now, unless she hoped to shock the conscience of the men currently examining her house.

They walked into the room, hats tucked under their arms. Colby had a thoughtful expression on his face as he entered the room, examining it slowly.

"I do hope you like it," she said, unable to keep the flirtatiously sarcastic bite from her voice.

"It is bigger than I imagined," he mused. "Six bedrooms."

"My great-grandfather had many children," she mused. "He built the home to accommodate."

He took a seat in a chair and poured himself some tea. Mr. Hastings picked up a finger sandwich.

"Before we leave, if it would be agreeable to you, would you walk me along the property line?"

"I would be glad to," she mused and looked out the window. She was vaguely aware of the two men speaking, but she did not listen. It was with surprising rudeness that she interrupted rather abruptly, asking without thought to her intrusion into their conversation, "Mr. Colby, might I make a request of you?"

"You may always make the request," he answered humorlessly. She stood and smoothed out her dress.

"Follow me, if you would?"

He obeyed without question and she lead him down the hall into the kitchen.

"If I am to be here the remainder of the summer, as I wish to be, I wonder if you might consider repairing this as soon as possible."

His eyes followed her foot as it covered the splintered wood on the kitchen floor. She withdrew her shoe and he examined it grimly.

"I'll send someone out first thing Monday," he promised.

"Thank you, sir," she said.

He moved to look out the window above the sink. He had yet to inspect the kitchen or outside property. The window overlooked the garden and the two trees that once held the tire swings.

"Beautiful, no?" she asked, stopping to stand beside him.

"Very," he answered. "A fine view."

"I am sure your wife will be pleased with it."

He chuckled.

"You strike me as the type of woman who would notice I have no ring on my finger, and alas, I've not yet met a woman to inspire my affection."

"A pity," she said sarcastically.

"Have I caused disappointment?"

"You think quite highly of yourself, Mr. Colby." Her voice was a bit hard. She did not lack the ability to sound coy and flirtatious with men she disliked. She merely lacked the desire. She walked toward the kitchen door. He followed her. Without either saying a word they walked out onto the porch together.

"The property runs past the tree line, about a hundred yards or so."

He nodded thoughtfully but did not share his thoughts with her.

"Does the well work?" he asked her, leaving the porch and striding toward it. She followed wearily.

"It does," she answered. He reached for the rope and her heart began to pound. It would be better if they were found, it would be so easy to say Bonefet had stashed them there in a panic. She'd get far more selling them then she would get from her insurance policy. She swallowed thickly.

"Harry!"

He dropped the rope and she heard the bucket hit the bottom of the well with a soft splash. Colby turned to face his friend who was now standing on the porch.

"There is a prohibition cellar," he called happily.

"It was built with the house, long before prohibition," she called, defending her family's name with obvious indignation. "My family took no part in that underhanded business."

"Mine did," Colby informed her placidly. "I should like to see it."

Now she followed him back into the house, down the tiny hallway leading to the spice closet and toward the hidden little basement door. Mr. Hastings opened the half door and ducked his head inside.

"Must be at least half the house," he said, though his voice sounded distant.

"Are there stairs?"

"There is a ladder," she answered. She watched with a detached gaze as he climbed inside and descending the stairs with his friend. Despite the hazard of the shoes and dress she wore, she followed.

Mr. Colby made a sound of surprise as he found her following, and just as she stretched out her foot to place it on the hard dirt floor, his hands secured her waist firmly and brought her down with gentle force. He had a sure grip and admirable strength.

"I am more than capable of descending stairs, sir. I've done so plenty of times," she flushed in embarrassment. She was no pious saint, but she was not a woman keen on strange men putting their hands on her body at will. He stepped back and gave a sarcastic bow of apology.

"Could make a decent dime selling these off," Hastings observed, picking up a pair of sheers. "Almost new."

"They were my mother's," she told them lazily. She picked up a sewing kit. She dropped it loudly. "She purchased them shortly before she killed herself."

She ignored the rather startled glances she received from her guests.

"If you could have them removed as soon as is convenient to you, I'd be grateful."

"I will have them sold and provide you with the proceeds for living expenses."

"I am your tenant not your charge, Mr. Colby, but thank you for your generosity. It will not be necessary."

"Mr. Medway lead me to believe your finances were... rather limited."

"For the standard of living to which I am accustomed, almost certainly," she agreed. "I don't care about money, or rather my lack thereof, I care about this house, and now that it is lost to me, everything else does not seem to matter much."

She tossed a hammer to the side with a loud clang.

"Surely you will allow me to make you comfortable for the time being," he countered, absolutely no sign of guilt or sympathy on his face, simply obligatory courtesy. She smiled at him.

"I am comfortable," she assured him. "I will be reading in the sitting room. Come fetch me when you have need."

She moved back up the ladder. She was vaguely aware that Mr. Colby had come to stand beneath it as she ascended.

Mr. Colby himself watched her move up the ladder curiously, a slight narrowing of his dark eyes. Hastings was rummaging through old gardening tools. When he purchased the house, he'd purchased everything inside of it, and while he intended on keeping much of the furniture, he had not intended to keep her parent's personal belongings from her. It was partially due to sympathy, but primarily due to his complete lack of need for such items. That she was so indifferent to the sale of her mother's gardening tools struck him as odd.

As if he had read Colby's mind, Hastings turned when he heard the door above shut, wrench in hand, and said, "An odd woman. Frightfully direct."

"I quite admire her bluntness. Uncommon in a woman."

"Uncommon in any sort of polite society, you mean," Hastings countered. "You forget how small she is. Not all the meek young girl the papers described."

"Not at all," Colby agreed. He glanced upward, as if he could see her through the ceiling.

"Beautiful, though," Hastings smiled. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"She is not unattractive."

"Not unattractive," Hastings repeated.

"She is beautiful," he admitted. "And does not appear to like me at all."

"She's suffered a great loss. Multiple losses. Poor child has nothing left in the world. She's far more put together than I would have believed," Hastings mused. He was far more sympathetic to old money losses than Harold was.

"Collect the tools," Colby said, picking up a box from the table and carrying it to the bottom of the ladder. "I think the sooner we get them out of the house the better for her."

Hastings obeyed silently. They were high quality. He wasn't sure if he wanted to sell them or hold onto them until he took full possession of the house.

Harold mounted the ladder and Hastings handed up the boxes to him. There was no movement in the house, and as the two men carried the boxes out to his car, he found Miss Stanstead seated in the sitting room, staring out the window with a far off look in her eyes. He had never seen anyone who looked so truly miserable. He felt a wave of sympathy for the girl, the first, fleeting glimmer of guilt, but it quickly passed. Business was business, and in the current economy, he had done her a favor for buying the home for so much. She should be kissing the ground he walked on, not acting like a petulant child.

As he passed on to the car, she turned her head and looked at the empty doorway. She looked to the untouched sandwiches and the cooling tea. She felt the bubbling up of hatred for him. It was the same sort of bubbling she had felt for her brother leading up to his death. It was nearly the same. His lack of respect, his lack of sympathy, lack of empathy, that cold hearted, unfeeling manner in which they viewed the world. The only difference between Mr. Colby and her dead, fool of a brother, was competence.

_You'd take a house from a poor girl with nothing and no one._ She took a sip from her cup, enjoyed the taste of the gin on her tongue and closed her eyes. She missed Jim, wished he was with her now, but he had been clear with what he wanted her to do. She scratched her forehead lazily. Her eyes fluttered closed and she lifted her eyebrows.

"All out of the basement," Mr. Hastings announced cheerily as he strode into the room. "Harry is just putting the last of the boxes into the car now. May I?"

He touched the back of the chair across from her. She gave a nod and a smile and he slid into the chair. He picked up a sandwich and his cup of cold tea.

"You are Mr. Colby's business partner?" she asked in an attempt to create some pleasant conversation.

"I am. His family made some money during prohibition, but not enough. My father never put any money into the market, didn't much trust banks, so when he died, I got a good little inheritance. Nothing to brag about, a little house and a few thousand dollars. I met Mr. Colby one day, had this great business idea. Had me sold in an afternoon and I gave him every cent I owned."

"You gave a perfect stranger your entire inheritance?" she asked in disbelief.

"Harry's got a way about him. Inspires trust. Less than a few years, I'm richer than I ever would have been in my wildest dreams."

"Congratulations," she answered.

"Forgive me." He was clearly embarrassed. "That was in bad taste."

"You should be proud of your successes, Mr. Hastings," she said. She was genuine. "There is no shame in it."

"You are a gracious woman, Miss Stanstead," he complimented. She smiled and took a sip of her drink.

"I think it's time we returned to the city," Mr. Colby said from the doorway. He had an unlit cigarette between his lips. He had the good grace not to smoke in the house. "I'll have to make arrangements for Monday."

"Right you are," Hastings said, pushing himself up to his feet. "On the way, might we discuss that land out west?"

Colby looked annoyed but answered in the affirmative. She stood and accepted Hastings last compliments and his farewell handshake. Colby remained in the doorway as Hastings left.

"I will be sure to have the floor fixed before the end of the week," he promised. She walked toward him, swaying ever so slightly, and smiled.

"You are very kind, Mr. Colby," she said. "Allow me to walk you out."

They walked to the front door together and he reached into his pocket for his lighter. He paused on the steps and extended his hand to her. She accepted it, but it was no brief handshake. His hand held hers firmly in place and he looked at her with an intensely dark gaze.

"If you are in need of  _anything_  during your stay here. Please, do not hesitate to call," he informed her, hand still closed firmly around hers. She held his gaze. She did appreciate his classification of her residence in her own home.

"If you'd leave me your secretary's contact information," she offered, a cy glimmer in her eye. His eyes flickered downward as she chewed the inside of her bottom lip. The unlit cigarette still hanging from between his lips, he released her hand and reached into his vest pocket. He pulled out his business card with all of his business information. He retrieved also, a tiny pencil.

"And should it be an emergency, my home phone and address," he added, scribing on the back of the card. He handed it over to her. She examined it thoughtfully.

"There is a phone in town. I will be sure to use it if I am in need."

He nodded. Before he could finish his farewell, she decided to add, "It is a great comfort. With my father and brother gone, it is  _certainly_ comforting to know there is a man close at hand."

He seemed appreciative of those words. He removed the cigarette from his lips and rolled it in his fingertips.

"I will consider you my responsibility," he added and gave a smile. "Farewell, Miss Stanstead. I will be in touch."

He put the cigarette back between his lips and walked down the steps.

"It is a beautiful home your grandfather built. I look forward to returning it to its former glory," he called over his shoulder. She leaned against a pillar and forced a smile. He opened the door to his car and leaned against it, facing her. He smacked the cigarette against the edge of his case before lighting it.

"Considering the extravagance of that car, I have little doubt you'll spare no expense," she said dryly. He smiled wryly at her, eyes twinkling as he blew the smoke from his nostrils.

"I didn't buy it new, you know," he informed her lightly, reaching out and slapping a hand on the blue shiny roof. "I saw it in a drive way as I was walking through Queens. The man didn't want to sell it, but he really wanted to feed his children. Made him a generous offer."

"You're quite free with your money," she mused, crossing her arms and pressing her shoulder to the pillar, hip jutting outward. She did not miss the quick, appreciative glance he gave her body.

"I am unaccustomed to not getting what I want. When I see something I like, I get stuck on it, I can think of little else and I won't stop till it's mine," he said. He paused to take a deep drag of his smoke.

"I am sure you may credit your great success to that tenacity."

There was something strange about his eye. He smiled and flicked his cigarette to the drive dismissively. He said, "You're too kind."

She smiled.

"Good day to you, Miss Edna," he bid her farewell.

"Mr. Colby."

"I'll be seeing you soon." It sounded like a promise and he lifted the brim of his hat. She said nothing in return. He struck her as the type that enjoyed the chase. He liked getting things that didn't want to get got.

She waited until the car was down the drive before stepping back inside. His arm hung out the window, his cigarette pinched between two fingers. He must have seen her watching. At the end of the drive he raised his hand and gave a little wave. She did not wave back. She simply turned and walked back into the house.

She mixed herself another cocktail and plopped down in her chair. She took a health few sips before examining the card he had given her. His handwriting was graceful, well written cursive.

_Harold – home – NY - 2384_

Not at all surprising he owned a home phone. She wondered if it was truly gentlemanly concern that had motivated him to provide her his home phone number, or a means of demonstrating his wealth to her.

"Arrogant man," she murmured. Arrogant men were easily manipulated. They enjoyed having their egos stroked and rarely doubted the stroking was anything but genuine. She let out a loud sigh and brought the glass back to her lips.

In his car driving toward New York at a somewhat dangerous speed, Harold Colby was considering the young, impoverished woman living in his new home. He sucked on his cigarette greedily, arm hanging out the window between puffs. He enjoyed the breeze in his hair. Hastings was talking about the land out west and how important it was that they move now.

"Let me make some calls on Monday. I'll move some funds around. Tuesday, bring me everything you have on the property."

"Yes?" Hastings asked, sounding rather surprised. Harold often did not change his mind once a decision was made.

"Yes."

"Wonderful," Hastings grinned. He began to prattle on about the house and how grand he thought it was. Harold only half listened. His mind was busy contemplating the small young woman with the severe mouth and penetrating eyes.


	4. Chapter Four

_Chapter Four:_

She was surprised when, before the sun set that Saturday, she received a wire from the postmaster's boy. She gave him a nickel and he hurried off in excitement. Still in the doorway she unfolded the little piece of paper and read it slowly.

_New floor Monday 8am Smithson and sons co stop will be present_

_H Colby_

And true to his word, at almost exactly eight in the morning that Monday, she heard the sound of a car murmuring up her driveway, followed by a rumbling pale blue truck with chipped paint. She decided to greet them on the front steps and exited the house before the cars had a chance to park. She stepped out into the humid morning air dressed in a simple but pretty yellow frock.

Mr. Colby stepped from his car looking casual but respectable. An infuriating cigarette in his hand, he wore dark blue pants, held up by suspenders, and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Around his neck was a tie, but of a fashion she did not like. She had always believed if a man wore suspenders and no coat, a long tie was necessary, though the plaid bow around his neck was of fine quality.

He waved to her lazily in greeting, slamming the car door shut. He spoke to the crew of young men piling out from the truck. The youngest looked to be about twelve, the oldest a bit older than herself.

"You received my telegram, then?" he asked as he climbed the steps.

"I did."

"I've used them before." He jabbed his chin toward the boys around the car. "They're a good crew. Keeping the business afloat for their old man. They're good lads."

"All the same, I'm releived you're here," she said. He looked a bit surprised. Before he could respond she went on, "four men for a panel of flooring?"

"The whole floor will be replaced," he said. "One piece of new wood would look rather out of place. I'd planned on replacing some of the flooring anyway, so it's no inconvenience."

"I suppose it'll be a noisy affair?"

"A bit," he conceded.

"Luckily for me it looks like it will a beautiful day. I'll be reading in the garden if you need me. I may pop in now and again, but I'll stay out of the way."

The boys were leaning against the truck, sharing a cigarette. Colby waved them up. The oldest brother took the cigarette, stamped it out on the hood of the truck, and tucked it into his carton of cheap cigarettes. She led them into the kitchen.

"There is some fresh lemonade on the counter and some bread made last night on top of the oven. If you need anything, come fetch me in the back garden."

They all thanked her and they all waited until she left the room before putting their caps back on. Colby waited until she was out of sight before giving instructions to the boys. He was helping them carry in a bundle of wood for the floor when she floated down the stairs, an ethereal smile on her red lips. She had a book tucked under her arm. They paused to let her pass. He watched her glide down the hall and out the door. There was something about that girl that he could not put his finger on. It was alluring.

The young crew with him seemed to agree. Though he was paying them well considering the economy, he gave them two packs of cigarettes to split between the four of them as a bonus. His only demand in return was that they step out onto the back porch to smoke. After hearing the two older boys make some suggestive comments about Miss Stanstead's calves, he ordered them out on the front porch for their smoke breaks. When he stepped out onto the back porch for a cigarette of his own, he found himself inclined to agree with their appreciative comments.

He leaned against the rail of the porch and examined her rather openly. She was a delicate figure in her lounge chair. She was long legged. The curve of her hips was pleasing and from this angle, the swell of her breasts surprisingly bountiful for one of her size.

She had a fashionable haircut. It ended just below her ears in a neat mess of dark curls. She had on a pair of round sunglasses and chewed on a plump red lip interestedly.

She glanced in his direction just as he stepped back into the house. About noon he stepped back out onto the porch, a glass of lemonade in one hand, a cigarette in the other.

"You won't come in for lunch?" he called and took a seat on the top step.

"I'm not hungry yet," she answered. She draped the book open across her stomach. "How far along is it?"

"Not more than an hour or two left."

She got up from the chair and strolled across the yard.

"I haven't met many rich men willing to take part in manual labor."

"I wasn't born rich," he reminded her. He took a sip of his lemonade and then a puff of his cigarette. Her nose crinkled and he stamped it out on the porch. "I've always liked working with my hands."

She took hold of his free hand and flipped it over. She ran her fingers over his palm. They were cool and gentle.

"Not exactly the hands of a worker," she countered.

"It's more of a hobby now-a-days."

She made a soft sound of comprehension and sat down next to him.

"Would you like a bite to eat?" she asked.

"Perhaps a cup of coffee?"

"Cigarettes and coffee? Were you a soldier, Mr. Colby?" She reached an arm across her body and gently kneaded the opposite shoulder. Her chin rested against her arm and he thought she had a playful glimmer in her eye.

"For a little less than a year," he answered.

"Indeed? Did you fight?"

"I was in France but I never saw battle." He said it regretfully. He'd always been a bit shamed by it. If only he had been a few years older. He was surprised to find no judgement in her eyes, just a thoughtful glimmer.

"You were willing to fight. That's all that really matters."

"I saw more men die during prohibition than the war," he mused with an amused chuckle.

"Is that how you made your money?"

"Me? No. I was a driver. That's all. My older brothers packed up a truck and I was handed the keys. We didn't make the stuff. No, I made my money after the crash."

"Ah, you haven't been rich long. Are you enjoying it?" she asked lightly. She had a caustic humor. The tightness of her smile portrayed bitterness, but her eyes seemed to twinkle with genuine amusement, as if she were able to find the humor in her own agony, without ever actually assuaging it.

"I have been," he answered dryly. He was unwilling to feel guilt or shame for his success, even if he achieved it on the backs of those devastated by the crash. Those like her father. He decided to educate her on his ascension to the upper class, despite the lack of solicitation. "I never trusted the market, and I didn't have quite enough to feel it was necessary to put into a bank. I'd saved a pretty little sum during my twenties. When the crash came, everything was so cheap. I met Hastings, the trusting fellow; gave me every cent he owned and I started buying up failing companies. Sold off the assets of the ones not worth saving and restructured the ones still spitting out a profit. Less than a year later I paid Hastings back in full."

"Ingenious," she complimented.

"More industrious than ingenious," he replied. He twirled his cigarette in his fingers. He was fighting with himself not to light it.

"Mr. Hastings was quite lucky you weren't a swindler."

"He was," he agreed with a chuckle and put the cigarette between his lips. He did not light it. He plucked it back quickly from his mouth and twirled it between his forefinger and thumb. She watched for a moment, an eyebrow slightly quirked.

"I wanted to..." she broke off suddenly embarrassed. She looked much gentler with the faint blush on her cheeks. She ran her nails along the back of her neck with the arm still stretched across her body. "I wanted to apologize to you. I've been very ungracious. You did not deserve it. You've been quite kind to me and I ... well I haven't returned that kindness. I've been rather beastly I suppose - "

He reached out and touched the hand resting in her lap. Her rather disjointed, anxious apology came to end and her eyes darted up to meet his. They were round and large and for the first time he found her completely unguarded. The vulnerability he saw there inspired warmth within him.

"There is no need for an apology. You've been through more in the past few years than any young lady should, and you've had to bear it alone."

Her fingers closed around his and squeezed out her thanks. Poor thing, he thought as she stood, dragging the back of her hand across her nose.

"Excuse me," she murmured and hurried into the house.

He lit his cigarette again and smoked it. He finished another before rising and going back into the kitchen. Miss Stanstead had the boys around the kitchen table, small plates with a serving of fish and iced tea in front of them.

"Mr. Colby, you'll have some fish? It's cold. I cooked it all up last night."

"Yes, thank you," he said and took a spot at the table. It had been pushed back into place after they had completed that side of the room. The second to oldest child, Edgar, was explaining how they laid down the hardwood.

"It looks wonderful," she complimented, though she sounded disinterested. A cup was placed down in front of him and she poured a hot cup of coffee.

"Cream or sugar?"

He was vaguely aware that her hand was on the back of his chair.

"None, thanks," he said, waving a hand. She tried to get away, but Edgar kept talking to her, a stupid boyish grin on his face. She was soon able to excuse herself without causing embarrassment and disappeared. She reappeared another hour or so later as the five men were cleaning up the kitchen. She stepped in through the back door. She must have left through the front at some point. She leaned against the kitchen table and examined the floor, slender arms crossed over her chest. Harold let the boys carry around the last of the supplies.

"Are you pleased, Miss Stanstead?" he asked.

"It is marvelously well done!" she praised. She crouched down and placed her hand to the floor. She straightened with a smile. "I'm amazed you got it done in a single day."

She walked over to the other side of the room and rocked back and forth on her heels. She smiled brightly.

"It no longer creaks."

"They're good at what they do." He poured himself another glass of lemonade and took a few big gulps.

"Thank you, Mr. Colby, for seeing to this so quickly."

"I am a man of my word."

She nodded thoughtfully.

"It is very close to the original." She reached down to touch her finger tips to the wood again. "I like that."

"I hope to keep the house very much the same as it is now."

She looked up at the ceiling. She was solemn and pensive. She pushed herself up and put a smile on her face. The girl had very sad eyes.

"Is there anything I can do for you before I leave for the city?"

"Oh, no. I get on quite well by myself," she assured him.

"Well then, I'll be on my way," he offered with sideways smile. He picked up his hat from the table and placed it on his head. She walked with him to the front door.

"Oh! I only just remembered," he said, though he had been thinking about how to broach the subject for most of the afternoon. "Will you be attending Miss Samantha Croft's birthday party this Friday?"

She looked up with sharp surprise.

"You are friends with Sam?"

"Fairly well acquainted, I would say," he corrected. "But I did receive an invitation. She never said she knew me?"

"My goodness, Mr. Colby, you  _do_ think highly of yourself. I never once said your name to her."

"Possible conceit besides, I find it hard to believe my name was not mentioned. You were quite cross with me," he pointed out. His ears were a bit hot.

"Hmm, that is so, though if I remember correctly, I referred to you only as  _that man._ She never seemed all that interested in his name."

"She is a bit flighty," he agreed. "In any case, I am sure you received an invitation."

"I have," she admitted. "Though I am not sure I will be in attendance. It is not so easy to go back and forth from the city."

"I understand. It's troublesome enough with a car," he said. "Well. I shall be in touch, Miss Stanstead. Please, do not hesitate to contact me."

He started down the steps.

"Will you be in attendance at this party?" she called after him. He paused at the bottom step. She had come out to stand at the very top of the stairs. She had the look of a hopeful girl trying not to look too hopeful. He fought the arrogance from his smile but could not help but let his lips tilt upward. He stepped up onto the first step so they were at the same height.

"If I thought the company worth my time, I certainly would be," he answered. "I always feel a bit out of sorts in that crowed."

"If I am able to find a means into the city, I will wire you," she offered. "So, you might not waste your time on company you find unworthy."

"Now who thinks highly of themselves?" he asked. She laughed softly. It was a soft, feminine laugh. "It is less than hour into the city. I could come get you."

He turned and motioned to his car with his hat.

"It's a fun ride. I'm sure you'd enjoy yourself."

He watched her consider the proposal. She was a sharp woman. If one watched her closely enough, they'd know clearly enough.

"Why not, huh?" she grinned. "I was too young for the twenties. Might as well have a little fun, no?"

She glanced above his shoulder as the truck started up and drove off. He turned to wave his goodbye and looked back to the girl in front of him.

"I will come fetch you on Friday then? Four o'clock?" he asked her.

"Yes. I look forward to it."

"I as well," he smiled. "Farewell, Miss Edna, I will see you soon."

He gave a nod and walked down the stairs. When he turned to wave goodbye before getting into his car, he noted the demure smile on her face.

"Not unattractive," he muttered to himself. He draped his arm over the opposite car seat and turned his body so he could see the drive as he reversed. "Not unattractive at all."

If he had glanced back once more before driving away, he might have been chilled by the new look on the young girl's face.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Some very questionable consent.

 

_Chapter Five:_

She had her dress for the party picked out less than an hour after he had left. It wasn't that difficult. She didn't have many dresses anymore. Most were old though she kept them in very good condition. She picked out the most expensive she owned. It was six years old but even now no one could say it was not an amazingly beautiful dress, well made and more than appropriate for a high society birthday party. She had almost asked him what he planned to wear. She believed it would play nicely into his conceit if she dressed to match, but there was no decent way for her to bring up the subject without it seeming disingenuous. Instead, she counted on him wearing black and weight, or some similar variation. Luckily, her dress would suit dark colors perfectly.

She heard him rumbling up the drive just before four. She watched him exit the car from the window. He stepped out dressed as perfectly as he could have. He wore a black dinner coat and trousers, a white shirt and a black bowtie, but it was  _not_ a tuxedo. It was absolutely perfect attire for such an occasion. Not at all the stuffy dress of a gentleman attending a dinner party with those who were far to old to enjoy the twenties properly, but neat and dignified.

She let him walk up the drive and knock on the door. She waited a few moments before she stood and opened the door. He grinned at her, appearing to her rather dashing in his well-tailored suit. His grin was charming.

"You look beautiful, Miss Stanstead," he said with a bow of her head. She thanked him and returned the compliment. "Will you need anything in the house before we go? Or are you ready to leave?"

"I am ready," she answered. She stepped outside and closed the door. He waited for her to lock it and they descended the steps together. "Did you have a good drive?"

"Wonderful! The roads were clear and the weather is marvelous. Got here in exactly forty-five minutes. I think we can beat that. If you're not too scared I mean."

"I don't scare easily," she answered. He opened the door for her.

"I might take that as a challenge," he teased. She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth. She ducked into the car and examined the interior. She could understand why he wanted it. He got in beside her and started it. It had a clean, healthy engine.

"Do you know everyone at attendance tonight? Or is Samantha Croft a special acquaintance?"

He drove them down the driveway at a relatively normal speed.

"I met Samantha Croft through Louis Worths. He manages a small newspaper. Amazing he's made it through the crash, but he has a sharp mind. I met Louis through Hastings, who you know how I met."

"I know Louis," she laughed. "I've known him a long time."

"A…  _friend?_ "

"Define friend?" she asked, brow severe. He rolled down the window.

"Do you mind?" he asked. He raised an unlit cigarette.

"Not if your window is open."

He unrolled the window and lit his cigarette.

"Will you know anyone else in attendance?" she asked when he decided not to answer and simply smoked his cigarette.

"I'm not sure. Samantha enjoys my company because of my humble beginnings. I can't get through one damn dinner without her having me describe my childhood."

"Why would you tolerate that?" she asked genuinely. "Being treated like some sort of sideshow at a circus."

He puffed his cigarette as he considered.

"I spent a good portion of my life dreaming of being involved in this type of society. Having rich friends, a rich, beautiful wife, land, homes, money… I guess they're interest in me, it doesn't bother me, as long as I'm at the table."

"You should think more highly of yourself, Mr. Colby. Don't let them use you like that," she said softly.

"Now she thinks I do not think highly  _enough_ of myself," he cried out in amusement. "Really Miss Stanstead, I do not know which way is up when I am with you."

"I've been told that before. Come now. We're on the road. Open her up. Show me why you bought her."

She slapped the dashboard. He chuckled and shifted gears.

"Do you scare easily?" They had a straight shot to New York.

"Not at all," she answered. He looked over at him, ginned, and shifted gears. Her screech of glee as they raced forward widened his grin and they reached a speed he'd never dare gone before. But the road was empty and clear, and the weather fine. She cried out in amusement, holding her arms out the window and enjoying the breeze. He slowed down as they approached the city and looked over at her. He lit another cigarette.

"Did you enjoy that?" he asked, though he knew the answer.

"My goodness, I've never felt so alive in years! The last time, I jumped off the quarry when I was fourteen!"

"You're father owned a car?"

"Briefly," she answered. "Well, I mean, I only road in it for a few years before he left and he never went so fast. The car, too, was much slower."

He paused to consider. He was under the impression the father had died.

"We might be a bit early," he mused. "I don't think I've ever made it s fast."

"That was marvelous," she said by way of reply. She grinned happily.

"Should we check somewhere first? A bar or a restaurant?"

"Oh, no, Sam will welcome us," she assured him. "Let's go directly there."

He soon realized why she wished to go there directly. The door opened and Miss Croft accepted them with open arms. She cried out as she saw Miss Stanstead. They embraced warmly. Next, they were introduced to Eddie Fleisch. He was a German, though his accent was slight enough that only those who paid close attention to detail would notice. He and Miss Croft were lovers and they did not take many measures to hide it.

"Mr. Colby! I've heard much about you. You're the one that stole Miss Stanstead's home, yes?"

"Purchased. Legally," he answered and held out his hand.

"Eddie struggles with word choice from time to time," Samantha scolded, smacking him on the arm harshly. Miss Stanstead herself looked uncomfortable.

"He gave us a higher price than we could have hoped for," she said graciously.

"Hush. Don't let this idiot make for an uncomfortable conversation. Come in! Eddie and I've been drinking since noon!"

Samantha and Louise settled down beside each other on the couch. Immediately they were in deep conversation. He and Eddie sat with their scotches and spoke business and the crash. Guests began arriving pretty soon afterward. He did not know many of them. Those he did know, he knew in passing. A dinner here or there. No one he really cared enough to remember in particularity. Louise was would come by to speak to him at his seat on the couch. She always had a drink in her hand.

Louis Worths arrived just after sundown with his sister. He made a beeline for Harold, a bright smile on his face. He was pleased that he had someone to talk to about business at a birthday and booze party.

She would come to sit by him occasionally. She'd make light conversation, making sure he did not need a drink or anything else. He made sure he only smoked when she was away. It wasn't long after everyone was assembled, and she was seated across from him on a chair, that Samantha Croft decided to raise her glass and thank everyone for attending her birthday celebration. In the same toast, she raised her hand, and spoke more gravely.

"And, if I could, though I know tonight is a night of celebration, speak very seriously. This year, we lost a very good soul. A kind man we all loved very much. I think we would be remiss, no, I think I would be the worst type of friend, the worst type of person, if I did not raise a glass to him today, in honor of his loss, so we can remember how much we miss him and love him. To Walter Stanstead!"

He looked to his right. Miss Stanstead stared wide eyed, lips parted.

"To Walter Stanstead!" everyone cried raising their glasses. He heard her murmur it softly and bring the glass to her lips. He took a sip. She did not. He watched closely. Saw every line of her face. Every furrow of her brow. She got up after the silence, after the applause, and poor herself another drink.

He kept a close eye on her most of the night. She was popular. People liked her. Especially men. She was not overtly flirtatious but she was charming.

She was perfectly aware of the flicker of his gaze. Every so often he would turn his head to observe how close Tom Davies inched. When Tom's hands gently pressed to her lower back in a purely innocent attempt to move her slightly to the right so he might reach for his drink, Colby's nostrils flared ever so slightly and he shifted himself rather angrily. He lit another cigarette and continued his conversation with Louis. She excused herself and politely intruded on the conversation.

"I'm sure you gentlemen wouldn't mind changing the subject to include a lady?" she asked with a smile. She stayed a more than proper distance but did not take the empty chair across from him. Instead, she chose to sit beside him on the love seat.

"No need," Colby answered. Louis laughed good-naturedly and asked her if she'd been to the pictures recently.

"We we're discussing an opportunity I have out West," Colby ignored Louis attempt to turn to the frivolous topic of pictures. "Oil," he added, shifting the cigarette to his opposite hand so it was further away from her.

"Oil out west?" she asked. "Wouldn't West Virginia be a better place to invest?"

"I have an opportunity to buy a tract of land in East Texas for a shockingly low price," he explained. "Texas will be the future of oil in this country. All I'll need is another war and my legacy will be complete."

"There won't be a war anytime soon," Louis dismissed. "Not with Herr Hitler keeping the krauts in line."

"Perhaps," Colby answered. He put the cigarette to his lips.

"Is this the purchase Mr. Hastings was discussing with you?"

"Indeed it was. You remember that?"

"It was less than a week ago. My memory isn't that bad," she teased. His eyes twinkled at her and he smiled.

"Lou! Lou!"

Both she and Louis turned their head, but it was her dear Sam was beckoning.

"Excuse me," she said and pushed herself up with a hand on Colby's knee.

Colby watched her go and took another puff of his cigarette.

"She's something, that one," Louis chuckled.

"Have you known her long?"

"I was close to Walt," Louis said. He was suddenly uncharacteristically grave. "We grew up together."

"Was she close to her brother?"

"They had a bit of a rivalry. Walt was a good soul but not very savvy. Louise, she's got the mind and manner of a man. Not all that attractive in a woman to begin with, but then you couple that with that sharp tongue of hers, well, they would sometimes go at it. He always felt their old man would've been better pleased if Louise had been a Louis, if you get my meaning, and Walt the uh... the Wanda. If you get my meaning."

"Indeed I do," Colby answered. She was laughing happily with a group of girlfriends, cheeks flushed red and eyes glassy with drink.

"You want to steer clear of her though," Louis added. "I see that look. She looks like she's what a woman should be. She's not."

"What do you mean?"

"Well I told you already. Has the mind of a man. She's always butting in on business conversations. What with you and your oil.

And she's got a nasty temper."

"I've witnessed it," Colby smiled around the end of of his cigarette.

"No, you haven't," Louis said, once again very grave. He leaned forward. "One time, well, we were up to no good. A bunch of us. Sammy, Lou, Walt and this boy Danny Miggs. Danny pulled her hair for something or other. I think he was just sweet on him. Pushed up right over the edge at the quarry. The water was low, despite the time of year. Danny's still got a limp. Lucky he's not in a chair."

"How old was she?"

"Christ, I think I was fourteen or fifteen so she... she had to have been about nine. But I know what you're going'to say, but listen to me, she  _looked_ before she pushed him over. She knew how shallow that water is. She made a calculated choice. It wasn't just an angry little girl lashing out without knowing any better."

Colby watched him finish a second drink.

"You think she's dangerous?" Colby asked.

"Dangerous? I don't know. Never trust a woman that thinks that much. When a creature that hysterical has a sharp mind, that's what they call playing with fire."

Colby continued to observe her. She was looking in his direction. She raised a hand in a shy wave when they locked eyes. He smiled at her by way of response.

"Now if you're lookin for a wife to spend all that money of yours on, let me introduce you to Betty. Very good looking, sweet, and doesn't think too much. Betty!" He waved the girl over but Colby was already standing. He hunched over the table to stamp out his cigarette.

"I'll leave Betty for you," he said in a voice low enough that the approaching Betty would not hear. "Miss Stanstead, come dance with me!"

"Only if you agree to call me Louise," she answered flirtatiously. She finished her drink before floating toward him.

"I will call you Edna," he said. He took her hand and brought her onto the floor. He loved to dance, and she was a wonderful dancer. It was fast but skilled. She didn't try to lead, and he wasn't worried about her feet.

They danced for a while before she pulled him off of the dance floor by the lapels of his coat, giggling and panting.

"I need another drink," she breathed, dragging him with her by the coat.

"Do you want one?"

"I'd like a smoke," he answered. He watched her pour them both a drink. If her other drinks had been as strong as the one she just made, than she had an impressive tolerance.

"What?" she asked. He leaned in and shouted to her ear.

"I'd like a smoke!"

"Come outside," she called. She took him by the hand and lead him out into the balcony.

What did you say?" she asked.

"I'd like a smoke," he repeated. He reached into his coat pocket. "May I?"

"It does not matter to me." She leaned against the balcony and looked down at the street below.

"You do not like the smell," he remembered. She shrugged and made a noncommittal response. He kept his distance as he smoked.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" she asked. He leaned against the rail as she was, but more than arms length away.

"I enjoyed dancing. I am enjoying myself now," he replied. She had put her drink down by her feet. It was nearly empty. He reached down and put his, untouched, beside it.

"Not big on parties?" she asked. She turned and leaned with her back against the rail.

"I told you, I like them when they have the right company."

"Oh yes. Company worthy of you," she mimicked. She did have a sharpness about her. He did not dislike it. "You seem to enjoy Louis's company."

"He's a good ole boy. Good for a short talk. Not real stimulating conversation."

"He was best friends with Walt growing up," she mused. Her eyes were kind of far off. "Inseparable really."

He reached down and picked up her half empty glass. She saw it in his hand, remembered, and reached down to take his. She did not notice, or did not mind, the switch.

"Were they thought before his death?"

"They both had their own lives. Louis was supporting his family. Walt was busy destroying his," she said bitterly. "He died just a smidge too late."

That struck him deeply and he took a sip of the drink. She took a healthy sip from hers. "It doesn't matter now. What's done is done. If anyone was going to steal my home, I suppose you could be worse."

"Thank you for the kind words," he said dryly. She giggled and stepped forward. She touched his coat again and stepped close, grinning up at him with those big brown eyes.

"Best step away from me, Edna. I'm a thief remember," he said. He looked at her mouth. "I might steal a kiss if you're not careful."

She looked around at the party goers within, blissfully oblivious to everything around them. She looked back up at him.

"No one can prove anything without a good witness."

He smirked and leaned down, but almost the moment his lips brushed across hers, the balcony door flung open and two young lovers stumbled out. They looked up on surprise and apologized.

"No, no, you use the balcony, we're finished," Edna said. She took Colby by the hand and lead him back inside. They plopped down on the couches close to the bar.

"Do you want a drink?" she asked him after listening to the mundane prattle of those around them.

"Sure."

"What do you want?"

"I'll just have what you're drinking."

She pushed herself back up with a hand to his knee. He leaned against the arm of the chair and followed her with his gaze lazily. She sat down closer to him than she needed to. She leaned against him and listened to the conversation passively, every so often leaning forward to pick up her drink on the table, take a sip, and put it back. When her glass was about three quarters empty he leaned forward and picked the glass up. He took a sip and rested it against his knee. She leaned down and picked up the drink she had made for him. She leaned back and rested it on her thigh.

"What about you, Mr. Colby," she asked him outside of the rest of the conversation. "Don't you just  _hate_ shoes with the ankle straps?"

He chuckled and draped his arm across the back of the couch.

"In fact, it is what I detest most. I spend many hours a day thinking of that terrible new fashion trend."

She crossed her legs, drawing attention to the long, creamy calf, and at the end, a black show with a strap of silk around the ankle. He leaned in closer. His fingertips brushed her calves.

"Wanna get out of here?" he asked. She looked around the dying smile and nodded.

"I just have to say goodbye to Sam."

He watched her duck off, bringing her drink with her. He reached into his pocket to have another cigarette before they left. She came back into the room about a half hour later and motioned for him from the doorway. He excused himself politely.

"You'll make sure our girl gets home safe now, yeah?" Eddie asked. He draped an arm around the smiling Samantha. She looked stunning, nearly as drunk as darling Edna.

"I swear it on my business profits," he joked. Eddie found that amazingly funny. He shook his hand heartily and slapped his shoulder.

"Take care of her, Mr. Colby. She's a doll, she is," Sam said. The two girls embraced and Edna flashed him a flirtatious grin.

He took Edna by the arm as they walked down the stairs and released her once they were out on the street. A tiny tremor coursed through her. He looked over her small frame. He draped his coat over her shoulders, offering it to her just as it touched her shoulders.

"Thank you," she said, pulling it around her closely.

"You know Eddie asked me to marry him once," she said as they walked down the street to his car.

"Oh?"

"Oh," she mimicked, turning to walk backwards so she could face him. He kept a good look behind her to make sure she did not run into trouble. "Does that make you jealous?"

"No," he answered honestly. She stopped walking, a scowl on her face.

"No?" she demanded. He stepped close to her, smiling in amusement at her anger.

"You didn't say yes," he pointed out. She smiled and turned around to walk straight.

"I was in love you know," she told him. "His name's Jim. He's not as tall as you, but I think better looking."

He smirked at her attempt to make him jealous. She continued to stumble and he took it as an opportunity to take her arm in his. She wrapped her arms around him.

"Not as smart as you though. Not as competent."

"A man is nothing if not competent."

"I agree," she said. She would have walked passed his car if he had not stopped her. He opened the passenger side door, but she put her hands around his face and brought him down for a kiss.

"The one we couldn't have on the balcony," she explained.

"My goodness you're drunk aren't you," he grinned. His hands gripped her waist firmly and pulled her closer. She had to arch her neck back to look up at him. She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. Once on her tip toes, she pressed her mouth back to his. Some passing college boys whistled and encouraged them good naturedly. Louise hid her face in his chest, but when they passed and she looked up, she was giggling with amusement, not a sign of shame on her face.

"Get in the car," he ordered. She stepped down off the curb and slid into the car.

"Will we go very fast again?" she asked. He started the car and pulled away from the curb. He just laughed to himself. He drove for about twenty minutes, listening to her slur about something or other involving Frances. He gathered that she did not like the girl at all. He parked the car and stopped it outside of his apartment.

"This is not my home," she observed, running a finger down the window and smudging the glass.

"No, it isn't," he agreed and got out of the car. He walked around and opened her door. She got out without any protest. "It's my city home. Before I move into my home in the country."

"Don't," she snapped, shoving him as she got out of the car.

"Hey," he said, grabbing her wrist. "Don't shove me."

She looked surprised. Like she'd never been scolded like that before.

"I'm sorry," she stuttered out.

"All right, good," he answered. He joked, "I bet you like this old Jim a whole lot better than me now, huh?"

"I told you, Jim is better looking," she teased. She followed him up the front steps to his townhouse.

"You know, most women try to be agreeable in male company," he pointed out to her.

"I am not most women." She leaned against the stoop rail, arms crossed. He looked at her with an appreciative gaze.

"No, you are not," he replied.

He unlocked the front door and motioned for her to enter first. She stepped inside.

"One more drink? Or do you want to go upstairs?" he asked. She giggled slightly and turned to face him. He had an amused grin on his lips.

I'll take another. Do you have gin?" she called over her shoulder on her stumbling search for a bathroom.

"Just whiskey and bourbon," he answered. "On the left, darling!"

She did not answer him, but after some fumbling she managed to relieve herself with no disasters and found him in the sitting room.

He had discarded his coat on the chair and had two whiskeys in his hand. One was larger than the other. That was the one she took from him.

"Tonight was quite fun," she said cheerfully. She was fighting some with her tongue. "I haven't had such fun since... since I can remember."

"You would have done marvelously as a young woman of the twenties," he said with a lift of his glass. She cheered that and took a large gulp.

"You are a talented dancer," she complimented. "I am quite shocked."

"Shocked? Why shocked?" he asked. He took took a small sip of his drink and put it on the table. He clasped his hands over a knee to observe her better. He had a little smile playing over his lips.

"Why, you're usually so stiff," she giggled.

"Not always," he disagreed.

"Maybe not." She finished the drink.

"Let's get you in a bed." She looked up and found him standing with a hand outstretched toward her. She accepted it and he gently guided her to her feet. She stumbled and giggled when she landed in his arms. She found it hysterically amusing.

"Are you all right?" he asked her. He had a little tremor of laughter in his voice. She nodded and said something neither could understand.

He put an arm around her middle and guided her up the stairs. She was talking about something funny Paul and Peter had said at the party. He listened dutifully but did not laugh when she thought he should have.

"I'm ... I'm telling it wrong," she realized. He opened a door and gently nudged her inside. He turned the lights on and she covered her eyes. She giggled, "it's so bright."

"Then close your eyes," he murmured. Very gently he drew her closer. She did not immediately realize he was kissing her. She tried to pull away but he kept her close. "Hey, hey, where're you going, huh?"

She mumbled out an apology and he kissed her again. It was a gentle, unaggressive kiss. His arm remained around her middle, keeping her close. His other hand gently caressed her hair.

"Colby," she breathed when his hand touched her shoulder and gently pushed at the straps of her dress. "I'm not sure - "

"Shh, Shh," he coaxed gently. "It's all right," he assured her. His hand left her shoulder and he kissed her again. She returned the kiss hesitantly and put her arms around his neck. It encouraged him. The kiss deepened and his hand closed around her breast. It was nothing she had never done with Jim before.

The kiss deepened further and his arm around her middle tightened further. He pressed her to him firmly.

She wasn't sure how they got onto the bed but she was suddenly aware he was on top of her as the kissing continued. His hands were warm on her thighs. He unclipped her garters.

"I'm not this kind of girl." It was a weak, breathy laugh.

"What kind of girl is that?" he asked. His lips were scorching against her throat. She tried to push at his chest but he was too heavy. He grabbed her wrists and pushed them into the pillow above her head.

"Relax," he murmured. His lips ghosted over her collar bone. "Relax."

Her muscles obeyed. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. His hand cupped her chin and his lips moved back up her neck. She lay still beneath him.

"Have you ever?" he asked. She shook her head but could not speak. She felt a bit dizzy. "It will only hurt a bit," he promised.

He slid off her knickers and tossed them to the side. He had flipped off his suspenders from his shoulders and was unbuttoning his shirt. His hair was ruffled. She gazed up at him with heavy, tired eyes. He grinned down at her as he flung off his shirt.

"You're magnificently beautiful," he complimented her. His voice was low and husky. He put his hand on her forehead and brushed her hair back. Some slick strands stuck to her sweaty skin.

"I um –"

He kissed her gently into silence. With delicate fingers he pushed down on the straps of her dress. She was quite cognizant of the removal of her dress, but his mouth was hot against her breasts and it was with a shocking bolt of discomfort that his fingers forced their way inside of her.

"Shh, shh, shhhh," he comforted her. He kissed her softly, rocking his fingers back and forth inside of her. Her hand went to clutch at his wrist. Her attempts to move the hand were feeble.

"Edna, you're beautiful," he told her, hooking an arm around her thigh and pulling her open. "Just relax. It won't hurt more than a bit."

There was some fumbling and he was inside her. The pain was sharp but it didn't last long. It was only mildly uncomfortable. He breathed out a long sigh of appreciation before he moved again. His arms trembled on either side of her face and she could feel his breath on her face. It smelled like mint and cigarettes.

He tensed above her and then a ripple coursed through his muscles. He plopped down beside her with a tired smile and a heaving chest.

"That was brilliant," he said and reached over for the cigarettes on the night table. "Do you mind if I smoke? Edna?"

She murmured something. She was having trouble keeping her eyes open. He lit a cigarette and disappeared. When he returned he was touching her on the shoulder and gently hoisting her up.

"Take a few sips, darling, you'll be glad for it in the morning."

She obeyed, but had no idea what was in front of her face. She was relieved to find it was cold water. She drank it down greedily. Some dribbled down her chin and onto her chemise. Once done she sagged against him with closed eyes.

He lowered her down onto the bed and covered her with a thin blanket. It was perfect for the weather. The last thing she heard before everything went dark was the sound of the bedroom door gently clicking shut.


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six:

Though she had drank daily since the death of her mother, she'd never gone to suchexcess. Normally, she was quite aware of her limits, and though she struggled to pass a day without drink, her struggle had never included not being able to stop once started. Last night had been a case where, though every part of her knew she'd had too much, she was struck with a terrible fear that once she stopped, the bliss would fade and she'd be left with terrible heart ache.

When she awoke, her punishment for such excess was quite possibly the worst headache she had ever encountered in her life, and a feeling of simultaneous starvation and nausea that she didn't know if what she needed most was to purge herself or eat every scrap of food she could get into her possession.

She lay in bed a while utterly miserable. All she wanted was sleep, yet the current state of her body made that simple desire impossible. She fought waves of nausea, perfectly unable to remove herself from bed. It soon became too much to fight and she threw off her blankets.

The nausea ceased almost immediately. She looked around the bedroom, blinking rapidly. She was sure she was in a dream. The room was of modest size though not small. There was a dresser, a small book shelf, the bed, and two-night tables. The blankets were dark blue, the pillows white. A pack of cigarettes and an ashtray rested on nightstand bedside her. A book lay opened and face down on the dresser. She was absolutely certain she had never once been inside this bedroom on her life.

She pit her feet on the hard cold wood floor and crept around the bed. She was in her underwear, her dress, stockings and garters neatly folded in the chair in the corner.

A bathroom and as attached to the room. Momentarily overtaken she hurried inside and emptied what was left of her stomach into the bowl. She smelled alcohol and it made her vomit again. She rinse her mouth on the sink and went back into the bedroom.

The room did not belong to Sam, it did not belong to Allison, Christ it wasn't even Frankie's. She knew one thing for certain though; this room belonged to a man.

She chewed on her lip, totally resolved not to leave the room for the rest of the day. She could remember nothing, but she knew that meant she had embarrassed herself thoroughly. It was the smell of bacon that landed the death knell to her resolve never to leave that bedroom again.

She crawled from the bed and found a robe. She smelled it, hoping that it would give her a hint as to its owner, but she learned only that the owner had good hygiene. She wrapped it around herself and reluctantly crept down the stairs. It was a well-kept home, clean and orderly, without feeling as though one was creeping through a museum.

"Good morning," she was greeted as she stepped into the kitchen. The newspaper obscured his face, but she knew his voice. So great was her mortification, she wanted nothing more than to shrivel up and die on the spot. She  _almost_ took a step back in an attempt to flee the room, but that would have been even more humiliating. He lowered the paper a bit so he could still read but cleared his face for view. "How're you feeling?"

He looked toward her with glimmering eyes and a smile before returning to his article.

"As though I might die," she answered. She sat down at the kitchen table and he lowered his paper again.

"Have you ever been so hungover?" he put a cup of coffee next to her, followed by a larger glass of water.

"Never," she lamented, resting her face in her hands. He chuckled.

"We've all been at there at one time or another," he answered. "I'm not feeling quite a hundred myself."

He went back to reading the paper. She sipped at her coffee and tried to remember anything she could. He made her a plate of food once it had finished cooking and she lifted up her fork. The smell was heavenly; it made her want to vomit.

"Mr. Colby?"

"Hmm?"

"Did anything happen last night?" she asked, pushing at an egg with her fork. He looked up from his paper thoughtfully.

"You're an amazingly direct woman. It's refreshing."

"Did something?" she asked.

"I'm afraid we both had a bit too much to drink last night," he answered. She swallowed thickly and nodded. The eggs were very good, the bacon better, but it did not do much to soothe the throbbing in her head.

"Please, allow me to apologize for my behavior," she said after she'd picked over the meal. "I'm not that type of girl."

"I hope you're not regretful," he said mournfully. "It had seemed to me you were quite willing, even enthusiastic –"

"No, it is not that. Only that I do not want you to think that I behave in such a manner normally. Truth be told that was..I..."

Her skin burned and he lifted his eyebrows. After struggling to find words, she looked up from her plate and say, "I just hope this doesn't affect your opinion of me."

"Hey," he said kindly. He got up and rounded the table, leaning against it with his body to her. "Not at all."

She flushed but put on the smile of an embarrassed young girl, and not the scowl of a woman who detested being treated like a child.

"Huh, kid," he said. He tapped her chin gently and she turned her gaze upward. "I think you're grand."

He pulled her up from the chair and tried to kiss her. She pushed at his chest both out of embarrassment of earlier purge and resolve to her plan and dignity.

"I told you, I'm not that girl."

"No," he mused. His eyes were twinkling. "You're something else entirely, aren't you."

She gave him the best sour grin she could manage in her current misery.

"I can't drive you home today," he said, but he quickly continued when she looked up sharply. "But I can have you driven. My assistant Kenmore. Trustworthy fellow. Or he can bring you to a friend's?"

"And broadcast to the world what happened?" she asked. She sagged back into her seat. "No, thank you."

"Home then?" he leaned back on the table. Her head ached and she felt sick. It did not mix well with her conflicting emotions. She was hoping to seduce him, but she did not want him to think he owned her.

"Yes, please," she said, trying to force an egg into her mouth. She looked up and found him looking at her with a queer eye. She was not quite able to read it and that infuriated her further.

"I'll send Kenmore over around noon with a dress for you. He'll leave it by the receiving table at the front door. He'll swing back around at three to pick you up. That will give you some more time to sleep it off with food in your belly."

"A dress?" she asked. He had picked up joe paper and was reading it intently, a crease in his brow.

"Well, if you are worried about your reputation, driving through the city in the same cocktail dress you wore the night before isn't going to do it a whole lot of good, is it."

She cursed her hangover. She should have realized the purpose.

"I will pay you back once I receive my insurance money –"

"Please, don't insult me," he smiled at her from over his paper.

She blushed and said nothing. By all appearances, her actions had not ruined her prospects.

Indeed, her appeasement last night and refusal this morning had only succeeded in hardening his resolve. Seeing her round the corner this morning, so small and miserable looking, wrapped securely in his oversized robe, had nearly driven him to propose on the spot.

"I am going to go lie down," she said. He looked up from his paper. She'd finished nearly all the food but had not touched the water. He told she'd need to drink it before he'd let her upstairs and she raised the glass to her lips obediently. He fetched an aspirin from the cabinet and she swallowed it.

"I will be on my way shortly," he told her, reverently touching her hair and smirking at the mess. He lowered his hand before the touch became more than a mere pat. "I will telegram before my next visit. If you need anything before then, please, you have my contact information. Use it."

"I will," she promise. She hesitated and bit her bottom lip. He thought she'd been a rather easy conquest. It had not finished his growing affection for her; it merely helped stoke his own already rather inflated ego, but he realized, despite her clear desire to give in, she'd be a more difficult hare to ensnare than he had originally believed. As much as he looked forward to the prize, he would enjoy the chase. "I'm sorry again. I'm not like that..."

"We all do things we might not otherwise when we drink," he comforted her. He could see the coyness in her eyes that had been there last night. Her hand on his knee all night, how close she sat to him, the kisses she gave him, the absolute feebleness of her so called protests... she could pretend all she wanted, but nothing happened that she had not wanted to happen. With this analysis done in his head, he considered trying for a kiss again, but to be turned away again would make a fool of him, and he decided it was not worth the risk.

"Finish up here. Eat all of it. You need something in your stomach."

He tapped the table with his knuckle and moved around her.

"I'm going to go get into my suit and then the rooms yours."

She mumbled out her thanks. He went up stairs, shaved and dressed. He took the time to examine and appreciate her stockings and garters.

When he walked downstairs she had finished eating. She was hunched over the table, head in her hands. She started when he put his hand on her back.

"Go to bed," he instructed. She glanced up sleepily and nodded.

"Yeah," she murmured. He knew better than to try for a kiss goodbye. In the passed he'd been content to do indifferent or light, but there was a vulnerability about this girl. She had nothing and no one. So great was his position of power that torturing her brought him no pleasure, despite her previous wealth or the disdain she might have met if they had met only a decade earlier, he wanted to comfort her. He took hold of both her hands and squeezed firmly.

"Contact me if you need anything," he reminded her. "And I'll telegram a day in advance if I need to come by the house."

"Two days."

"Hmm?"

"Two days. It is in our agreement."

He smiled. "Two days."

"Thank you, for everything, Mr. Colby."

 _You call me Harold,_ he might have said if she was any other woman in this situation.

"You're very welcome, Edna. I'll be seeing you soon," he answered. Her lips pinched and her eyes hardened. He liked it better than Louise. It was what he would call her.

She removed her hands from his, retrieved a glass of water, and vanished into his house. He cleaned up the kitchen, locked his office door, and headed out for the day. Despite the work he had to do and the length of his day, his first stop was a dress stop. He was anxious to pick out something to see her in.

_Two Weeks Later_

Everything had happened just as Colby said it would. She laid in bed that dreadful day and heard the front door open just passed noon. It shut and locked just moments later. She readied herself in the bathroom, examining his shaving razors closely. It would be impossible to make that look like an accident.

At three the man Kenmore arrived. He was middle aged, a bit portly, but very friendly. He had three daughters, all around her age. She never felt an ounce of judgement, a hint of scorn. He was jolly, cordial, and never once asked her name. He was instructed to drop her at the post office and pay for a ride home, wherever that may be at whatever cost. She was grateful with the precautions Colby took to shield her reputation.

She had, to her misery, the terrible luck of having Mrs. Vance, at the post office that very moment, who was all to willing to drive her home, free of charge.  _Oh, Miss Stanstead. So good to see you Miss Stanstead . Louise. Oh, sweet little Louise._

She made sure to send a telegram to Colby with her thanks and assurance she was home safely. She was unsure if he would care, now that she had surrendered so foolishly her only bartering chip, but she had to try.

Her resolved hardened when she got out of Mrs. Vance's car and finally extricated herself from the conversation. She turned to look at her house and felt a rush of love and ownership for her family home. Let that cursed man restore it. She'd take her home back, new and improved, with a pretty fortune and a business empire to boot.

But two weeks past and she was positive he would not be making any social calls. He'd fix up her house, see her move out at the end of the summer, and marry some flighty, virtuous ninny of whom men seemed so fond.

She was relaxing on the settee, a cool rag over her head, when there was a rapid, hurried knock on the door. She stood and walked toward it lazily. People had marveled at how she could stay alone in that house after what happened. Wasn't she afraid? Didn't she jump at every noise? She just scoffed.

She opened the door, not a single fear in the world, and looked down at the post master's boy. He handed her a letter and then waited with wide eyes. She examined the letter anxiously and felt her spirits deflate to find only Sam's return address.

She looked back down and frowned at the boy still standing in front of her.

"Miss Lou, Miss?" he asked, holding up a dirty hand anxiously.

"Come in a moment," she sighed. She rummaged through a drawer and found a nickel. "Use it to get a bath," she instructed flippantly, and then called after him genuinely, "don't go home to your mother like that Timmy!"

She moved back into the living room and opened the letter. She unfolded the page with a heavy sigh.

_Sweetest Lou,_

_I just had to write. Eddie and I will be leaving for our California trip the day after tomorrow, but I have to write._

_That Mr. Colby is a handsome man and dear god is he_ _RICH_ _._ _I was quite happy to make his acquaintance when I did, but I never saw him often. Eddie has more dealings with him than I. I would see him from time to time at a restaurant or a store._

_Let me tell you, he's stopped by_ _FOUR_ _times in two weeks. I do not think I'd seek him more than four times this past year! And within the first ten minutes of every conversation, who does he bring up but YOU. Have I heard from Miss Stanstead? Will Miss Stanstead be back in the city any time soon? Any news on Miss Stanstead._

_I think you made quite an impression on our rich handsome friend, my love. I began to suspect he stopped by so often hoping I might write and gossip as to his clear interest in seeing you again. Eddie insisted I should. And he had the most brilliant idea! If you married Mr. Colby, the house is yours! And he's so very handsome and rich. Not too old at all either! And tall! Lou, Lou, LOU, I beg you to send word to him. Or come into the city and run into him quite on accident. My apartment is yours while I'm in California. I've left a key with Miss Buckley downstairs._

_I hope to see you soon, my love! I will send a post card. Eddie promised we could stop at the Grand Canyon!_

_All my love,_

_Sam._

_PS: I did learn that there is a Jew on his mother's side of the family, but I don't think that's all that well known. Not worthy of a scandal at any rate._

Louise lowered the letter and chewed on her bottom lip. She tossed the letter down, walked up the stairs, and walked into her bedroom. She approached the window and opened it. She examined it closely. Pressed her molars together and she jerked on the window hard. It popped out of place with a crack of splintering wood.

Satisfied and grabbed her purse, slipped on her shoes, and marched herself back into town. She pulled out what money she had and placed it on the counter. The post master came up with a smile. They exchanged pleasantries and she asked, "How many words can I get with this?"

"Two words," he answered.

" _Two?"_

Hank gave a sympathetic smile.

"Does this person have a telephone?" he asked.

"He does, but I do not," she answered, collecting her coins with faint humiliation. He jerked his head to the side and she followed him around the counter to the back room.

"You know how to use it?"

"I do," she informed the old man. A gentle smile was on her face. She pulled out Mr. Colby's Card. She dialed New York.

"2798," she told the operator. She was connected and heard Kenmore's voice.

"Colby and Hastings," he said.

"Good morning, Mr. Kenmore. Louise Stanstead calling."

"Oh! Miss Stanstead. One moment, I'm to put you right through, let me make sure he's out of his meeting - "

"Oh no, do not bother Mr. Colby, please," she said. Let him miss her call. She wanted him to be as hung up on her as she had been on him the past two weeks. She had to take some of the power back. "Could you just leave a message for me?"

"Yes, yes, but he  _did_ say I was supposed to put you through..."

"Could you tell him my bedroom window is broken. I'll need it fixed at his earliest convenience. I'm quite anxious being unable to lock it."

He was scribbling on the other side of the phone.

"I will tell him as soon as he's out of his meeting," Kenmore assured her.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Kenmore. Good day to you."

"And a good day to you, Miss!"

She hung up and smiled. She thanked Hank warmly and assured him she would pay him back for his kindness when she was able.

"The amount you tip my idiot boy, you already have. He gave this to my wife for her birthday."

He picked up a little jar from behind the counter. It had a fair amount of change inside.

"Damn near killed her. Excuse me, almost killed her. Half of its from you, I suspect."

"You're good people," she told him and left. She lingered. It was too hot and she was too tired to walk back home already. She browsed the old book shop and some empty boutiques. Not an hour later Timmy came running out of the post office.

"Miss Lou! Miss Lou!"

He was waving a telegram. She read it and smirked.

_Will fix tomorrow ring if too soon very best Harold_

She thanked Timmy and tucked the telegram in her pocket.

"Miss Lou?"

She turned. He was holding up his hand.

"No, Timmy."

"But I came all the way!"

"You came from the post office just there."

"No sir!"

"You came from just there," she answered.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"I just watched you."

"No."

She took out another nickel. He ran off happily. If he had been collecting the money for sweets she might have refused him but seeing the jar he had collected for his mother touched her heart.

She made sure the house was clean and tidy and took out the dress he had bought her. She had to admit, the man had good taste. She wasn't sure if he'd simply called a store and told them to prepare something fashionable, or if he selected it himself, but she knew she had to be wearing it when he showed up.

It was a pretty red, high waisted dress with a white collar. It matched perfectly with almost any pair of shoe. She made sure she had food and alcohol stocked, fresh flowers on the table, and anything embarrassing was hidden in her bedroom. She expertly draped some pink silk lingerie over the chair in the corner. She reminded herself he'd seen her undressed, but she still thought it might inspire additional desire.

He arrived alone about ten in the morning. She came to meet him on the front porch. It was a warm morning. Heat bugs were buzzing noisily.

"Just you, Mr. Colby?" she asked. She leaned against a white pillar, arms crossed over her chest. Her wore light tan pants held up with suspenders and a white shirt sleeve shirt. He wore no tie but had a straw hat on his head.

"Just me, Miss Edna," he answered. He retrieved a tool box from his car and walked up the steps. "I think I can manage a broken window."

"You might need more supplies." She had to squint into the sun.

"We can drive into town," he answered. He let the tool box drop to his feet when he stopped in front of her. He took off his hat and smiled. "It's grand to see you again."

She smiled coyly.

"I thought I had seen the last of you," she admitted.

"Nonsense," he answered and then added with a playful grin. "You're living in my house."

He picked up the tool box and stepped past her. He began walking up the stairs, "Last door on the left?"

"Yes," she followed. He paused before the door.

"May I?"

"Only way to see the window," she pointed out. He turned the handle and opened it with a push from his shoulder and a playful frown. He scanned the room carefully. His eyes lingered on her chair but he did not break stride.

"How on Earth did you manage this?" he asked. He ran his hand over the wood.

"Do you know how to fix it?" she asked. He continued to examine it and then shook his head.

"Not the slightest idea. Any local laborers that might know? I'll pay them well."

"Anthony Miller if he's sober. If not one of his sons would know. They had a small construction business. Now they do odd jobs to get by, though the business is still technically operating."

"We'll go for a drive? You can bring me there?"

"Of course, though I don't know if I should get into a car with you again. You drive much too fast."

"If I recall you were thoroughly enjoying yourself."

He opened the front door for her.

"I am pleased you like the dress." He spoke when they were about halfway to the car. "It looks wonderful on you."

"You have wonderful taste, or I suppose, the store clerk you spoke with over the phone has wonderful taste."

"Oh, no, I picked it out myself," he said, opening the door for her. "I'm glad I got the chance to see you in it."

She slid into her seat. He played it cool, but she knew enough about him to know it had been a good decision to wear the dress. He got into the car beside her and turned the ignition. He draped his arm over the seat as he reversed from the driveway.

"If you have time before you need to return to the city, I could show you around town," she offered. "It will be your new home. I am sure many will be anxious to meet you."

"I'm sure. I stopped by the general store to pick up some cigarettes on my way in. I've felt so many eyes on me at once," he chuckled.

"There is a nice young lady that has asked me to introduce the two of you," she revealed. Maggie Everette. Louise scoffed and shook her head.

"You're not fond of her," he asked in the form of a statement. He grinned at her, eyes leaving the road. "Or jealous?"

"Oh, believe me, I am not concerned about Maggie Everette. Would you like to go there first?" she teased, turning her body to face him, sitting as close as she could without being inappropriate. "I can introduce you."

"I have no interest in meeting any young ladies while I am here," he answered. He was still smiling.

"Turn right up here. No, sorry not this one. Flower Bluff Road, just here. I should introduce you to Mrs. Vance. She'd never forgive me if I didn't. And Dr. Broedecker. He set my arm after it happened."

"Do I get a say in what I do with my day?" he asked.

"No," she answered simply. He chuckled. They pulled up to the Miller household. One of the boys was sitting on the front steps, wearing blue jeans overalls and no shirt. He was about fourteen, sucking on a cigarette and spitting into an empty beer can. He fetched his father for them, who she was surprised to find sober, and he promised they'd get over there as soon as possible. They just had to fetch some supplies. Colby retrieved some money from his wallet for supplies and said they'd meet back at the house for two.

"To town? We have time to kill," Colby said when they drove back down the dusty dirt road.

"Yes. It's just about ten minutes down the road. Turn left up here."

He pulled over right before they got back on the main road. He excused himself but offered no explanation and went into the back seat. He retrieved a sport coat and a tie. He put the coat on but put the tie on in the car.

"If I'm going to be meeting half the town, I should look presentable," he explained. They parked outside the general store. He asked her if she wanted a coke. They stopped inside and Louise leaned against the counter to talk to Micky. Colby stopped beside her with two cokes.

"Micky, this is Mr. Colby. He'll be moving into my house at the end of the summer," she introduced. "Mr. Colby, this is Mick. He's the owner's son."

"Saw you earlier, Mr. Colby. Good to meet you officially," Mick greeted. They shook hands. "I thought you already bought the house?"

"I did," he answered. "Miss Stanstead has been very helpful acquainting me with the area."

"Mr. Colby is too kind to me," she answered, smiling over at him. "He's allowing me to stay out the summer."

"Where're you going to?" he asked.

"Oh, somewhere in the city," she said dismissively. "I might stay with a friend."

Colby put down two nickels.

"I want to go to the city soon. Do you –"

There was a rapid knocking on the door and they all turned their heads. Mrs. Vance was waving happily through the glass. She hurried inside with a large smile on her face.

"Miss Louise. And who is this handsome young man with you?" her cheeks were flushed and she looked up with wide eyes and a bright smile.

"Mrs. Vance, this is Mr. Harold Colby."

"A pleasure," he greeted. They shook hands. Mrs. Vance talked his ear off. They struggled to break away, but finally Mr. Colby politely lied about a deadline, and they left the store with their cokes. They got back into the car and drove back toward the house.

He stopped the car on a strip of open road and they enjoyed their cokes in peace. He complimented the farm land. It was a beautiful area. He was mightily pleased. She told them about the towns people in more detail. He chuckled at her descriptions. Suddenly, she cried out and seized his arm.

"Oh! We must go find Maggie!"

"No, we must not," he answered and started his car.

"Oh, but we must!"

"I've got all the female company I want already."

"Oh?"

"Yes, but she never shuts her yapper," he added. She laughed and swatted at his arm. He made an off-hand remark that they needed to get back to the house.

"Do you want me to cook dinner?" she asked. "I don't want you to go back to New York on an empty stomach."

"If it's not too much trouble. That would actually be great."

"I'll make dinner for five? Is that too late?"

"Not at all," he answered. "I cleared my day for you."

She smiled and looked at her hands in her lap.

She made dinner and Colby stayed upstairs to oversee the work. It didn't take too long for the window to get fixed. She checked on the work before the Millers left and Colby remained in the kitchen with her as she cooked. He smoked a few cigarettes, but he stayed by the open door, arm outside.

He explained his business. It was interesting. Modest would not be a word she would use to describe him, but he explained rather risky and daring business maneuvers rather dryly.

They ate at the kitchen table. It was a simple table setting. She pressed him about his business, hoping to learn more of it.

"You're the first woman I've ever met so interested in business."

He was up from the table as she cleaned, leaning against the opened door to have another cigarette.

"Not all woman only care about clothes and jewels."

He considered her words.

"Storm coming," he mused. She walked over to the door and looked up at the sky. There was a rumble of thunder. It had cooled outside. There was a breeze ruffling the trees. She looked up at Colby. He was examining the clouds. She finished drying the dishes, looking out the window as he spoke.

"Dinner was wonderful," he complimented. "I can't thank you enough."

"Of course. You came all this way to fix the window."

She followed him out onto the front porch. She hugged herself, shielding herself from the breeze.

"You shouldn't really drive back to the city now, should you?" she asked him . He had taken the key from his pocket.

"I don't think this rain'll let up any time soon and I'd rather get out ahead of it," he answered. His gaze was up at the darkening sky.

"It's far too dangerous," she argued. There was another vicious crash of thunder. She walked back out the door and onto the couch. "No, you must stay until it passes."

"Must I?" he asked. He had a soft smile on his face.

"This house has six bedrooms," she reminded him. She took hold of his arm and brought him inside. He did not put up much resistance. She plucked the key from his fingers and tossed it into the bowl by the door. "I'll fix a drink," she released him. "There's records in the sitting room if you'd like to go through them."

"Anything to drink?" he asked.

"In my father's study there is whiskey. I haven't touched it. Or I have gin."

"I'll help myself," he said. After getting dinner started she came into the sitting room. He had a glass of whiskey on the table and was crouched down, going through the records. "Ah. Louis! Grand collection."

"My father collected them," she mused, sitting down and sipping her drink. "He loved music. The record player is old though."

"Your father is dead?"

"No, I'm not that lucky."

He turned his head to look at her.

"He left in 1930. Set up a trust first. Most responsible thing he'd ever done but… I haven't heard from him since. My mother killed herself that same year."

"I'm so sorry," he said gravely. She shrugged.

"Don't be. I'm better off without them."

"No one is better off alone," he said.

"Some people are," she murmured. She took a small sip. He put on a record. She glanced up when he stopped before her and offered his hand. "Edna Stanstead, may I have this dance?"

Her laugh was practically a scoff, but her smile was genuine and her eyes twinkled. She gave him her hand and he pulled her up gently. His arm circled around her waist and he took her hand in his. His dancing was the smooth and light.

"You're an interesting man," she said honestly.

"And you are an interesting woman," he replied. "Are you certain you wish for me to stay tonight?"

"Of course. The rain," she smiled. As if on cue there was a crash of lightening. "I hope we don't lose power."

"Oh, I hope we do," he answered. "We can share ghost stories by candle light."

"I don't scare easy," she warned. He smiled and twirled them suddenly. She laughed happily. "Where did you learn to dance so well?"

"When I was younger, I'd head off to a speakeasy. I didn't want to waste my money on drink, so I danced all night."

"I bet you were popular with the ladies," she teased.

"Somewhat. Where did you learn how to dance?"

"School," she answered. She added with a sardonic smile, "Where I learned to cook, and clean, and properly set a table."

"Well, your cooking and dancing skills are top notch, I've yet to see you clean, but judging by the house, I'd say this school did a fine job educating you," he smirked. "I never went to school."

"Never?"

"Well… I went to high school. I left when I turned seventeen to enlist. Never went back."

"You've done quite well for yourself regardless."

"And you will as well," he said. She smiled at him. She broke away at the end of the song so have a sip of her drink. He nursed his. When they came back together for another song, she moved the hand from her shoulder and wrapped it around his neck, pressing herself closely to him. She'd often enjoyed seeing men get worked up over her. It was a rush. It exhilarated her. The look in his eyes did so now. She was excited to take some of her power back.

They stared at each other. She wasn't sure what to say or how to act. The skies opened up. She could hear the rain pouring hard outside. She bit her bottom lip and told him, "I told you."

He smiled and his hand moved lower on her back. He held her to him. She pressed her breasts to his chest.

They danced a while longer before he plopped down on the couch and took a sip of his drink. She joined him on the couch with a smile and flushed cheeks. The rain came down hard. The wind howled. Thunder boomed.

"I used to go to the city all the time when I was sixteen. That year, my goodness, I think I went every weekend to dance. Sam, Eddie, Walt, Louis, and Jim. We'd spend hours and hours dancing."

It was the last time she could remember being truly happy. He gently touched her hair and looked over her face. He moved closer to her. Her lips parted.

"May I kiss you now, Edna?" he asked. She nodded.

His lips were warm and soft. His kiss was firm but gentle. He kissed her again and put his hand to her neck. The kiss deepened. She kept her eyes closed and simply enjoyed the sensation. He was a handsome man. Kissing him was far from a chore, despite her dislike for him.

Her breath hitched when his teeth caught her bottom lip. He nibbled. It sent a wave of pleasure through her body. Her nipples hardened. Jim had never bitten her lip before. He pulled back, dragging his teeth along the sensitive skin of her lip. A breathy little moan escaped her.

The hand on her neck drew her closer again.

"You're beautiful," he whispered against her jaw. He left hot kisses in his wake until his lips found her ear lobe. He sucked it into her mouth. His teeth closed around the ear lobe. Her neck arched, her head tilted, and she let out another little cry.

The hand not closed around the back of her neck slid up her knee. His touch was firm and confident. There wasn't an ounce of hesitation. It was not a gentle touch asking for permission.

His hand took the turn around her knee and slid up her thigh. His fingers pressed against the hot, soft skin. They played with the edged of her stockings. A genuine cry of surprise came faintly from her lips and she pulled her head back.

"Mr. Colby," she scolded softly.

"You're so beautiful, Edna."

She put one hand to his chest and another to the wrist between her legs.

"Don't worry about it," he said dismissively. She was frightened by her inability to move his wrist, and his refusal to do so at her behest. He kissed her again and his hand plucked at a garter.

"Stop," she ordered, turning her face to the side. She  _couldn't_ let him do as he pleased again. It might be the end of everything. His lips brushed over her jaw. "Mr. Colby."

His hand moved further up. She slapped him hard across the face. He sat back absolutely stunned. He blinked with a set jaw and hard eyes slightly widened. His skin was flushed red.

They sat in silence. The rain came down hard.

"Why did you ask me to stay tonight?" he asked. Her lips parted. She wasn't equipped to deal with this situation. She hadn't expected it; she hadn't prepared for it. He slapped his knees and stood. She watched him march out of the room dumbly; her eyes were wide and her lips parted. She'd never been at a loss like this. She knew how to manipulate men. But as she watched him leave she saw her dreams of keeping her family home vanishing along with him and panic engulfed her.

"Mr. Colby!" She cried. She chased after him into the hall. He had his keys in his hand was reaching for his coat. "Mr. Colby, wait, please,  _Harold!"_

He stopped and turned to face her at the door. His face was flushed, his cheek burning brightest.

"I will not be made a fool of," he demanded harshly. She sputtered.

"I was-I wasn't –"

"What did you expect me to think? Did you really think I didn't leave because I was afraid of the  _weather?_ You're smarter than that and we both know it."

"I didn't –" He did not let her finish. He stepped toward her and she took a step away from him.

"I don't know what type of men you've wasted your time with but I won't be played with. I don't like women that play games. I didn't think you were the type."

"I'm not, I don't," she tried to get out before he could continue but he pushed on. He was frightfully angry.

"That dancing? You – You pressing yourself against me like that? You don't just, work a man up like that, and then pull the rug out from under him."

"I didn't mean – I like you," she said, stepping closer. She gripped his suspenders. She thought he might actually hit her he looked so angry, but she knew better than that. "I like you a lot," she added. "That's the truth. The window, I... I broke it on purpose... I wanted to see you again and you hadn't called on me in over two weeks."

He looked confused and then his face softened.

"I thought I had ruined your opinion of me with my behavior at the party. And I - I want to - I want to do that – with you, but I know that, women like that –"

"I don't care about that." He touched her cheek. "I don't care." He smiled and bent his neck a bit to catch her timid eye. "Hey, I like you too. It won't change my opinion of you one bit."

"Come back to the living room?" she pleaded, tugging gently on his suspenders. He hesitated. He considered her closely. "Please? Stay?" He put his hands on her wrists and leaned down. His eyes were intense and glued on hers.

" _Never_. Hit me. Again," he warned her. "Do you understand?"

She nodded. His eyes were frightful. She'd never seen a man look so intense.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"You hit me the night of the party. I won't tolerate it."

"I promise," she assured him. She took his hand and guided him back into the living room. He tossed his keys on the counter and draped his coat across the chair.

She pulled him down next to her. He leaned back on the couch and she pressed a kiss to his mouth. Her hand actually trembled as she wrapped it around his tie and pulled him deeper into the kiss. She could tell her was still angry. His kiss was reserved. His body was tense. She was not certain it was the right course of action, but she was desperate. If he left now, everything would have been for nothing. She took his hand and put it to her breast. There was a moment of hesitation before his hand closed over the mound of flesh. His mouth opened and he returned the kiss with more enthusiasm. He gripped her waist. If possible, his touch was even more confident than before. He touched her like he owned her.

She hated him for it.

He shifted them and slowly un-plucked the buttons of her dress.

Once the buttons were undone, he gently pushed her back on the couch. She thought he was going to take her then and there, but instead, he dropped to his knees before the couch. He removed her stockings. He pulled her shorts down past her feet.

"Who you wearing these for huh?" he asked her. They were pink and silk, nicely embroidered.

"For me," she said honestly. Her heart was throbbing in her chest.  _For my house. For my home._

"Let's go upstairs," he murmured. He kissed her again. He stood up and brought her with him. She followed him up the stairs, hand in hand.

"The master bedroom?" she asked, putting her hand on the door handle that had once belonged to her parents.

"I want to fuck you in your bed," he answered huskily. She sucked in a breath. He kissed her as the door opened and he walked backwards into the room. "You broke the window on purpose?" he asked. His breath was hot against her jaw.

"Yes," she breathed. His teeth raked down her neck. He pushed her back onto the bed with surprising force. She was not surprised he possessed such strength, but that he would chose to exert it at that moment. He smirked and rested a knee on the mattress, half straddling her.

"No more games, Edna," he ordered. He unbuttoned his shirt.

"I'm scared," she admitted. He tossed the shirt to the side and leaned down. He kissed her.

"I won't hurt you," he promised. He stroked her cheek. "You're all I've been thinking about for two weeks," he admitted. "You drive me wild."

A smile curved her lips upward. His hand slapped against her thigh and he parted her legs. He kissed her again. He massaged her between her legs. His fingers were inside her. His thumb stroked her gently. She moaned into his mouth.

"You broke a fucking window," he chuckled against her mouth. Her face burned. It was humiliating. She hated his arrogance. "Relax, sweetheart," he murmured. She nodded rapidly. He slid into her slowly. He was careful not to hurt her. She was grateful for that at least. He groaned softly. He lowered his head to rest on her shoulder. "You alright?" he murmured.

"Yes," she answered. She ran her hand through his hair. She was not sentimental. She hadn't dreamed of the perfect first time. She didn't lament the loss of her virginity. Yet, in that moment, she felt frighteningly vulnerable. She hated it and she hated him for making her feel this way.

"You're sure?" he asked. She nodded. He kissed her and began to move.

She was sure when they finished he would smoke a cigarette, ask if she was alright one last time, and then go to the master bedroom to sleep. He got up from the bed and put on his pants. He left without a word. She stared up at the ceiling, mind racing.

He walked back in with a glass of water. He took a few sips and put it down on her desk. He crawled back into bed and laid on his side next to her. His hand rested on her stomach and he kissed her cheek. His kissed trailed downward, and he seemed content to lie there, gently caressing her collarbone with his lips.

"I thought you were going to sleep in the master bedroom," she admitted. She ran her nails gently up and down the back of his neck.

He made a face.

"Do you want me to?"

"No, no," she said quickly. "It's just... I don't really know what I was thinking…"

"I grew up in the twenties, remember," he said gently and kissed her collarbone again.

"Still, there is a big difference between the type of woman a man amuses himself with and the type he –"

She broke off and he looked up with a wolfish grin.

"Marries?"

"I – "

"I'm still considering it," he said boldly. He kissed her jaw. His hand closed around her breast.

By the time he was finished the second time, she was utterly exhausted. He left again. She waited sleepily for him to come back, but faded off to sleep, sure he actually had gone into the master bedroom and she'd been terribly played. He woke her up coming back into the bed, and he pulled her over so she lay on his chest.

"You need to tell me where you're going when you just run off," she mumbled. He had some hair on his chest. A fine smattering of dark hair. Not at all like Jim's bare chest but she discovered she liked how it felt against her cheek.

"I like to smoke after sex. You don't want smoke in the house," he pointed out. He ran his hand up and down the length of her arm.

"You still need to tell me."

"I will," he chuckled. "Go to sleep now."

She obeyed him.

He lay in bed a while, gazing up at the ceiling. He had lied to her, but he did not think a little lie like that was worth feeling guilty about. He very much judged a woman that would spread her legs for the first rich man to come her way, and he certainly found himself grotesquely disinterested in women that had taken multiple lovers in a short period of time. At the age of nineteen, if he discovered she'd been with more men than he had women, it certainly would have done away with any interest he had in her.

Edna was quite different though. Lying in his arms was a young, vulnerable woman, alone in the world, with absolutely nothing to her name. She'd lived a sheltered life, everything she ever wanted at her fingertips. He believed she had handled the losses of her father, mother, brother, and wealth very well. A woman like that would respond to a strong male presence, especially one that could offer her security and comfort. So, assuring her that he would not think less of her if she submitted to his desires was all the push really needed. If his intentions were less than honorable he would not have taken advantage as he had, but he did not desire her company purely for the promise of sexual gratification, though it was something he would now expect from her.

But the beast in him found it intensely pleasurable to mull over the vulnerability of her position. It would be so easy to walk away now, wait out the summer and put her out on the street, never to see her again. She'd been far easier to seduce than he had anticipated, but he wasn't at all disappointed. A man wanted to be needed by his woman. He wanted to be depended upon, relied upon. A man wanted a woman to look at him in awe and respect, as well as love. He truly thought he was the first firm hand she'd ever experienced in her short life and she responded well to it. He didn't think it would be too hard to put her manipulative streak in check.

Things were looking up for him. In just a few short months he'd gained a beautiful home, the type his mother used to spend hours in scrubbing dirt from the wood floors, and it appeared, in perhaps no time at all, he'd have a pretty young wife on his arm as well. Her debts would be painful to pay off, but he was not interested in finding a woman with a fortune. He had one of his own and he would be indebted to no one. He would own his wife. Not the other way around.

He picked up her small hand and examined it closely. She murmured softly but did not wake. For whatever reason, he spent some time examining her pretty, slender fingers, wondering how easy it might be for them to wield an axe.


	7. Chapter Seven:

Chapter Seven:

She woke up early that morning and lay awake in the dark, considering with careful precision what she should do next. She listened to him breath in the darkness. He had an arm draped over her middle. He did not snore and she was glad for it, but he did breathe a bit heavy, lips parted.

By the time she slipped from bed the next morning, she had her plan in place. She chose to risk her pride. If she remained cool and distant, especially now, it might end things immediately, at no additional risk to her dignity, but her best shot at success would be to submit to his obvious desires, and risk being left at the end of the summer a penniless fool.

He came down for breakfast to find a healthy spread very suitable for two people, fresh coffee, and his cigarettes placed on top of the day's newspaper. He said nothing outside of a simple thanks but there was a small smile playing on his lips. They made light conversation. He stood in the doorway to smoke his cigarettes, arm out in the summer air.

She refused his request to walk about the yard with him until she had cleaned the kitchen and was comforted by the fact that he waited at the table for her to finish. He played with a cigarette as he told her about his considerations regarding his townhouse in the city. He had to keep a city residence. That was beyond dispute, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to keep the one he had now or not.

"It's in a fine area," she recalled. "And quite large."

"I've been looking at other places in Central Park West and a place in Riverdale. Beautiful homes…"

"You do not want to live in Riverdale, not where the well to do live. They're terrible snobs."

"Oh, but that is exactly where I want to be," he grinned. "Next you're in the city I'll bring you by. I know you'll give me an honest opinion."

He rose as she tossed the dish rag into the sink. He opened the back door for her and they took a stroll through the back yard. It would take a landscaping team to bring it back to its past glory, but she explained it to him in as much detail as she could muster, imploring upon him the absolute beauty of the place prior to the crash.

"I would spend hours out here on the swing," she reminisced warmly. She sat down on the swing and pushed back with her feet. She let herself sway. It was where Jim kissed her for the first time. "Walt and Jim, Louis… Danny; they would sit on that big rock there, they had to jump up to avoid trampling mother's flowers. They'd smoke and talk about the city, college plans…"

She trailed off, eyes far away. She looked up when he took hold of the rope holding up the swing and smiled down at her.

"Why does everything have to change so much?" she asked him.

"If I could tell you why, I would. I can only tell you that it does and always will."

She sighed. She pinched the bottom of his shirt and played with a button shyly. "I'm glad you're not still cross with me."

"I wasn't ever cross."

"Oh, you most certainly were," she disagreed. He leaned down and kissed her with smiling lips. He pulled back but she took hold of his tie and tugged him closer. He smiled and kissed her again. He tugged her out of the swing and tucked her arm under his.

"Well you succeeded in tempering my anger at any rate," he said as they walked back to the house. He collected his things once in the kitchen and she walked him out to the door. On the steps, she leaned against the pillar and he stood before her, twirling his keys around a finger.

"Will I be seeing you in another half month then?" she asked with a flirty pout. He smirked.

"Long before or else you'll tear my house to the ground," he answered. It brought a blush to her cheeks. She played with his tie and kept her eyes lowered demurely.

"You'll make me think you've lost interest," she told him.

"Nonsense," he answered. He enjoyed her unease. He tilted her chin up. "I'll call. I promise."

She smiled.

"Or I'll tear the house down," she threatened. He took hold of her hips. His fingers prodded gently.

"Wouldn't want that," he answered. He kissed her again and was gone without much more of a goodbye.

She received a letter from him a few days later informing her that he would be very busy this coming week and would be out of state, but that he did not want her to think he was avoiding her. His writing was neat and spelling perfectly accurate but not that of a man that had any meaningful education. Had Walt written in such cursive, his knuckles would have been bloody.

His words were comfortingly affectionate. He began the letter with  _Darling Edna_ and ended with,  _most affectionately, Harold,_ though overall, the letter was business like. Purely informational. No additional sweet words or promises he was thinking of her.

She called his office a week later to see if he had returned. She did not want to appear desperate but she also wanted to make sure he would be present at the fair on the eleventh. She sat in the postmaster's office waiting anxiously for the phone to connect. When she finally spoke with Kenmore he informed her he had returned to the office late the night before and was available at his home number. She was to call at once. He'd be happy to hear from her.

She called his home phone next.

"Harold Colby."

His voice was crisp and clean on the other end of the phone.

"Would someone call this number not knowing who they'd be speaking to?" she asked him.

"Habit I guess," he answered.

"Well, how do I find you today, Mr. Colby?" she asked. She sounded a bit unsure. She absolutely hated speaking on telephones. You couldn't see someone's face. You couldn't read them. You couldn't gauge their reactions and change course. It put her at a terrible disadvantage.

"Much better if you tell me this is my girl calling," he responded flirtatiously. She could almost see him sitting in his home office, leaning back in his chair, smug smile warping his lips upward. Her mouth went a bit dry.

"And which girl is that?" she asked, changing her voice ever so slightly.

"You think you're clever, don't you Edna," he mused and she relaxed.

"I don't ever remember agreeing to be your girl," she responded. Her voice was light and teasing.

"Will you be girl, Edna?" he purred. She could hear the smile on his lips.

"Perhaps."

"Oh?"

"Not something I expect to be asked over telephone."

He chuckled.

"To what do I owe this pleasure then, hmm?"

"There is a county fair in two weeks. I was hoping you might accompany me." She bit her bottom lip and waited. There was a slight pause.

"You know what I like most about you? You're a forward woman. Not offensively so, but you're direct and to the point. It's refreshingly honest. Wonderfully attractive."

"That's great praise," she smirked against the phone.  _Honest indeed._

"What date?"

"Saturday the eleventh. Um, July the eleventh," she answered. He was silent but she heard the ruffling of papers.

"Saturday July the eleventh is yours," he said. "What time should I collect you?"

"Four or so. I prefer fairs at night." That way he would be more inclined to spend the night.

"Of course."

"If you want to arrive earlier in the day though, I wouldn't protest."

"Wouldn't protest?" he teased. He was smiling. She could hear it. "Would you like me to come earlier?"

"I would like to spend time with you," she gave her false confession with a little embarrassed giggle. She was evening biting her lip and twirling her hair.

"I'll come in the morning? We could go for a stroll or a drive?"

"I look forward to it."

"While I have you on the phone, actually this will save me a telegram and a trip to the post office, are you free  _this_ Saturday?"

"I am."

"My mother is having a small barbeque for my brother's birthday. I hope it's not too forward or too hopeful, but I'd like you to go with me."

"I would love to," she jumped at the opportunity. She felt a crash of victory wash over her. "That is… I am free that day."

"Edna, Edna," he scolded playfully. "I just praised your honesty. No need to feign disinterest."

"I wouldn't want to appear too hopeful and make another conquest more entertaining."

"I have no other girls and I knew it was you on the phone," he pointed out dryly. She could hear papers being moved around and knew he was working. She made a little unconvinced noise with pursed lips. "Stop pouting. It's unattractive."

"What should I wear?"

"Anything really. My family are simple people. "They won't be done up." There was a pause. "But I like you in red."

"Then I'll wear red."

"I'll see you this Saturday, Edna," he said. There was stillness on the other end of the phone. His voice was pregnant with meaning. Restrained affection, amused admiration.

"Goodbye, Mr. Colby," she answered. She hung up the phone.

That Saturday was beautiful. Hardly a cloud in the sky. It was a bit hot but otherwise perfect for a barbeque.

He arrived at noon, dressed as handsome as ever. He was dressed for a hot summer day at a casual setting. Tan pants and a brown belt, short sleeved white shirt tucked in neatly. On top of his head he wore a straw hat and dark, round sunglasses rested on his nose.

"You look beautiful!" he complimented as he got out of the car. He came toward her, hands in his pockets. She smiled and twirled playfully. She wore a pretty white dress with small red polka dots. He grinned and pointed to the ribbon around the top of his hat. "You match my hat."

"You said you liked red," she added. He bounded up the steps and kissed her. He was in a wonderful mood.

"All ready?" he asked.

"A little nervous," she answered. It was true but she attempted to appear more nervous than she really was. He might be tough to fool, but he doubted all his family was as aware as he was.

He winked at her and she locked the door. She had to fight the triumphant grin from her face.

They spoke briefly about the past week and his business trip. He had been quite busy. She was genuinely interested in his company. After all, it would be hers one day. They bought the land in Texas. Hastings was overjoyed. She laughed as Colby explained Hastings' reaction. He was incredibly animated in his retelling of it. She told him how she had begun replanting the back garden. He told her to garden to her heart's desire. He'd be sending a landscaper soon, but they'd listen to her direction. Most of her anxiety was dissipating.

He changed the topic of conversation as they pulled down a road into a nice little neighborhood. The homes were rather large, new, and had spacious driveways. The backyards were wooded and it had taken them only about twenty-five minutes for them to arrive at their location.

"My father is a rough man. He was a union man. He curses. I've told him not to today, but he won't listen. He doesn't like fancy things and isn't overly fond of rich people."

"Few poor people are," she answered examining the houses closely. She did not mean it offensively and luckily, he did not take it so.

"My older brother, Georgie, it's his birthday, he's quiet. He'll appear a bit cold but it's not because he doesn't like you. He's just quiet."

"Noted."

"Donny, he loves everybody and he's easily offended. Try to just… try to just be a bit gentle with him," he warned her but he was smiling as he said it.

"I will be a perfect lady," she promised. They pulled into a driveway and he stopped the car. The house was, like the rest in the neighborhood, two stories tall. It was light green with a lush green lawn and two chimneys. It was not an old house. Probably built within her lifetime.

"Your parents live here?" she asked in surprise. "So close?"

He glanced over at her with a tiny smirk. He leaned back in his car.

"There's a reason I wanted your house so badly," he explained. He pointed over his shoulder. "The blue house there is my older brother's, Georgie's. The house there, the red one with the fence, that's where my sister lives with her idiot husband. My other brother is about three miles north and my cousins are less than a half hour west."

She waited, surprised with the new information, and he walked around to open her door.

"I thought you said you grew up poor," she spoke in a hushed tone in case a family member was close.

"I purchased the homes," he murmured. He stood close to her so he could keep his voice just as hushed. "My sister's husband bought their house when the development first went in. I bought the additional plots to keep everyone close, but the houses are too small for me. Don't mention it in front of my brothers. They're touchy about it." She was well aware he had siblings, but he ever struck her as a man particularly close to his family and certainly not one so generous with his money. She remembered the rather generous price he offered for her house and a tiny smile came to her lips.

"There's my boy!" a woman cried out. It drew their attention. Colby smiled warmly and he stepped away from Louise. She stepped to the side and he shut the door. The woman came hurrying from the house wearing a simple blue dress and a white apron. She was older than Louise's mother had been when she died, about fifty. Her hair was bringing to gray, but she had once been blond. She had a very warm smile and kind blue eyes. She flung her arms around Colby's neck and he hugged her warmly. He smiled at Louise as the woman rocked him back and forth.

"Morning, ma," he greeted. He had to extricate himself from her arms. "It's been two weeks, ma, come on," he said gently. "This here is Louise," he said and she was grateful he did not introduce her as Edna.

"Well hello, hello, Louise!" She was greeted with a hug of her own. Her arms tightened around her, squeezing her close. It was a proper mother's hug and she felt the loss of it as she withdrew.

"Louise, this is my mother."

"Gladys," the woman told her. Her voice was weathered with age but feminine. Louise did not think she smoked.

"It's no nice to meet you, Mrs. Colby. Truly," Louise greeted, a kind smile on her face. She leaned into Coby, hands in front of her, clasped with feigned anxiety. These were simple, kind people. She wasn't nervous anymore.

"Oh, no, dear, Gladys. I insist. Oh my goodness, Harry, she's beautiful. More beautiful than you described."

"Um, I described her beauty more than adequately." It was the first time she had ever seen him truly uncomfortable. He looked at Louise. "I mean, I told her just how brilliantly beautiful you truly are. Ma, seriously?"

"I just mean you're more beautiful than  _I_ thought you'd be," Gladys defended him.

Louise smiled shyly and turned an affectionate gaze toward Colby. He was smiling at his mother and put a hand on Louise's back gently.

"Come in, both of you. Everyone's inside," Gladys said. She turned and began to walk up the steps. "Well, except for Vera and the cousins. They'll be here though."

"Of course Vera's late," Colby muttered.

"Be nice to your sister," Gladys scolded.

"Uncle Harry!"

They turned. A little girl came running out the front door.

"Aaaahhh Charlotte," he groaned as he scooped the little girl up. "My god you've gotten big, haven't you?" He had her under the armpits and lifted her up and down. Her feet kicked and she giggled happily. He put her down when she began to squirm and he knelt down in front of her.

"This here is Louise," he told her, jerking his head toward her. Louise smiled at the little girl. She shoved all her fingers into her mouth and rocked her hips side to side shyly. Colby gently pulled her fingers from her mouth. "Can you say Good Afternoon like a big girl?"

"Good afternoon," she greeted.

"Good afternoon," Louise answered. The little girl ran off.

Inside she met Georgie and his wife, Anna. George was the oldest of the boys. He was not handsome but was tall and had a fine build. He had blond hair and blue eyes. Anna was about his age. She was polite and friendly, but she felt distant. Close by were their two children, Annabelle and Charlotte, two girls aged ten and seven, and a fat little baby, Joey, cradled in his mother's arms. The two little girls were friendly, but shy, and they went off to play with their dolls once officially introduced.

The second brother, Donald, called Donny, had to be called back into the house. He was in the backyard with the boys' father. Donny looked exactly like his father, Phillip. Georgie more closely resembled his mother, than his father, but Louise was actively away that Colby shared very few characteristics with either brother, save height, and looked nothing like either parent. Both Donny and Phillip had sandy hair and blue eyes. Phillip was a kind man, leather faced, hard, gruff and clearly working class. He did not fit in with his surroundings. He was union man at a power company. Had been for years. But his knuckles were swollen with arthritis and he had been laid off at the start of the crash. He'd accepted retirement begrudgingly.

Colby greeted each person with a hug. They all gave her friendly and affectionate handshakes. By the time they all sat down at the kitchen table, Gladys was running over with coffee.

"Have you seen these new coffee makers, Louise? Come look, see how easy it is?"

"Ma, she's owned a coffee maker all her life, I'm sure," Colby said. He pulled out a chair for Louise and had her sit.

Both parents were clearly proud of their sons. It was a close-knit, loving family. She sat beside Colby at the kitchen table, drinking coffee, a slight smile on her face. They teased each other, made each other laugh, and got on well. She did not think her family had ever been so happy, even at their best. It made her sad. They asked her questions about herself, but it was very clear they were not sure what they could and could not ask. Without a doubt, Colby had informed them certain topics were off limits given her dark family history. She was grateful for his concern but it made things even more uncomfortable.

"After my… my brother's murder, I've been rather reclusive," she said, deciding to broach the subject herself. "I don't know if I would have survived it all if it wasn't for Harold here."

Hesitantly, Donny asked about the murder. Colby shifted uncomfortably, but she retold the very same story she told in court, nearly word for word. She'd been over it in her own head so many times, it was second nature. She almost believed it herself. Colby starred at the table thoughtfully. He plucked at the table cloth with his thumb and pointer finger.

"Oh, you poor child," Gladys mourned.

"Forgive me. I'm embarrassed. I did not mean to be so glum at a birthday. I meant only to say how grateful I am to Harold."

She reached out and touched his hand. He smiled at her sadly and squeezed her hand back.

"For what? Throwing money at you?" Phillip said. Louise's lips parted in shock. "That's how he solves his problem. Throwing money at it. Need a new house. I'll buy one. Need a new car. I'll buy one."

"It's a common way to solve problems, Pop," Colby answered. "And you should apologize to Louise for the insinuation."

"What insinuation?" he asked with genuine confusion. Louise quickly realized there was no slight to her meant, merely his son.

"You boys go on outside now. Us girls will make sandwiches for lunch."

Gladys was thrilled with the assistance. Anna helped when she could, but she was quite busy with her children. Little Joey was a colicky baby.

Louise was walking back from the bathroom as the truck rolled up carrying Harold's sister, husband, and a swarm of children varying in age from four to seventeen. She watched the family jump out of the truck. The husband and wife, followed by three boys and two teenage girls. Another car soon rumbled up. Four more piled from the car. Her stomach tightened a bit and she yearned for a drink.

She walked back into the kitchen to inform Gladys of the new arrivals. Gladys cried in excitement and ran to the front door. She was thrilled to have her entire family all together in one place. Louise walked to the back door and glanced toward the yard. Colby was leaning against the porch with his brothers and father. All four were smoking. She caught Colby's eyes. He saw her anxiety and excused himself.

"Y'all right?" he asked. He put an arm around her middle. She nodded.

"Just a little nervous."

"You're doing great, kid," he smiled. He tapped her chin with the knuckle of his pointer finger. Their attention was stolen by a squeal. The young woman that came racing toward them was quite pretty. She was a bit plump. She had rosy cheeks and sandy hair matching the color of Donald's. Her eyes were blue. She embraced her brother and rocked him back and forth.

"And you must be Louise!" she cried, surprising Louise greatly. She embraced her warmly and rocked her back and forth as well. "I've heard so much about you."

"Vera," Colby scolded.

"Is it a secret you're sweet on each other?" Vera asked sarcastically. "Because I don't think it is."

Louise blushed and looked up at Harold. Louise decided she liked Vera.

"Vera, settle the children and help us with lunch," Gladys instructed the squabbling siblings.

Vera's husband approached with a toddler in his arm. He shook her hand and introduced himself. His name was Cliff, he was handsome and seemed very friendly. He and Harold greeted each other rather curtly before Cliff went to the back yard with the little boy, CJ. The couple had three other children, all boys, each one more energetic than the last. They greeted her politely before they went off to play with their cousins in the backyard. Almost immediately the sound of children's laughter and happy shrieks filled the house.

Vera liked to talk and she was very interested in Louise.

"He won't stop crying!" Anna cried out dramatically and plopped herself down at the table. She buried her tired face in her hands and sighed.

"Oh, it's just gas!" Vera called. She fussed, made a drink, and went to get the baby. She laid the baby on his back and took hold of his ankles. She bicycled the legs as Gladys and Louise finished up lunch and Anna nursed her drink. Soon the boy was fussing less.

"How did you meet Harry again?" Vera asked.

"He bought my house," Louise reminded her. Vera's jaw hung open.

"Oh! Oh, my goodness, I had no idea that was  _you_. I knew he bought the house of course, and a young lady lived in it, and I knew he met a pretty young girl names Louise, but I  _never_ knew you were the same person."

"Yes, that is me," Louise said with a wry smile.

"How have you… how has… well how have you been? Since you saw your brother killed?"

"Vera!" Gladys cried.

"And that's why Harold didn't tell her," Anna mused. She rubbed her temples.

"Did everyone know but me?" Vera asked.

"It is quite alright," Louise laughed, putting an arm on Gladys' arm. "I have dealt with it."

"Has he fried yet?"

"Vera!" this time both Gladys and Anna cried out in shock. Louise fought a smile. To laugh now would be frightfully inappropriate. She did like Vera's directness though. She respected it and preferred it.

"Not yet," Louise answered.

"Vera take the trays outside. Vera. Take the trays. Outside," Gladys ordered. She muttered to her, "And mind your tongue in front of Harry's lady-friend." Vera took the trays, rolled her eyes, and walked outside. Gladys apologized profusely, overcome with embarrassment. Louise calmed her.

They ate lunch out on the deck. Colby had a spot saved beside him. He draped his arm over the back of her chair. It did not take long before she took over the conversation. His family listened eagerly as she explained what it had been like to grow up so rich. She didn't like the conversation. It was simply a reminder of everything she had lost, but she kept the smile on her face and answered every question graciously.

"You'd think I didn't have a penny to my name," Colby mused with a fake pout.

"Harry's not happy unless he's the richest person in the room," Georgie teased. Colby began what she knew was going to be a gracious comment, ignoring the fact that she was at this point, the one in the room with the very least amount of money, but she cut him off.

"Oh, he is though. We lost everything in the crash." Anna looked a little bit too smug in response to her admission. "My father didn't have the business sense Harold does." She smiled up at him. Gladys smiled brightly, touched and warmed by the look of adoration being bestowed upon her baby boy. She looked at her husband they shared happy smiles.

"Please, God," Donny groaned. "If his head gets any bigger he'll be truly insufferable."

Not unaware of Gladys and Phillips loving gaze, Louise smiled and reached out to touch Harold's hand. She pulled her hand away coyly, but using the arm draped over the back of her chair, he gently and discreetly stroked the back of her neck with his fingers.

"My brothers don't like it that their baby brother is more successful than them," he teased. His brothers took it in stride and repaid his arrogance with an embarrassing story of his childhood. She had trouble focusing. Her attention was narrowed in on the feeling of his finger tips on the back of her neck and the thought that he might choose not to return to the city that night.

The men all went off to grill together. The women remained on the porch though the conversations were a bit splintered. Gladys soon went inside to check on the children and Anna went to feed her fussy baby boy. Vera plopped down beside her and handed her a beer.

"Your brother and husband don't get along," Louise observed. Vera was surprised at the directness of the question but recovered with frank honesty of her own.

"Ma and pop always wanted us all to stay together. After I married, Cliff moved us out here. We were one of the first houses on the block. Harry bought ma and pop a house first. Then got Georgie the job as foreman at the mill. Helped him get the house. Donny didn't want to be so close, his wife, god rest her, didn't want to move. Well, that's not all that important. Harry's the head of this family. Georgie doesn't care, Donny's not competent enough… I think Cliff fancied himself man of the family. He was for a while, took are of ma and pop, kept everything in order, did that while Harry was out west. Then he came back and took over. There was some tension but they got along. Then after having a bit too much to drink, you'll notice Harry doesn't drink…"

Louise's eyes darted over to Colby. He as the only one not drinking. Her eyes narrowed slightly. Vera continued.

"He told Cliff a bit angrily that he wasn't blood and didn't have a say. Well, Cliff replied, 'neither are you'. I thought one of them was going to end up dead and the other in prison. Thank goodness my mother was there."

"What do you mean 'neither are you'?"

"You don't know?" she whispered. "Oh dear, I would have assumed he told you. Well, he'll tell you before he proposes I'm sure of that."

"You think he's going to propose?" she whispered back. She hardly knew which trail to follow.

"You don't?" Vera asked in some disbelief. Louise saw Colby glance in their direction. He had a smile on his face, but he observed them closely, eyes alert. "Well, I hope it won't scare you off."

"It won't," Louise smiled. She leaned in a bit closer, utterly interested. "What did you mean 'neither are you?'"

"Harry's not our brother," Vera answered in a hushed voice. Louise's eyes narrowed and she leaned in toward her. "Well, I mean he is. He hasn't told you? Well he will. Before or after the proposal I don't know." Vera leaned in excitedly. "It's a scandalous story. My aunt's… that is, my mother's sister's husband had an affair. My mother "went to visit family" down south to visit family and came back with a newborn. Our little Harry."

"So… he's your cousin?" Louise said, trying to make sense of the story.

"He's my brother," Vera answered with a smile. "But no, we share no blood. He was a product of my aunt's husband's affair. We have no relation to him."

"That explains his brown eyes," she mused.

"What?"

"I've read two parents with blue eyes cannot produce a child without them," she replied.

"Is that so? Isn't that interesting," Vera answered, though she clearly did not believe it. "Anyway. That's the story. Their relationship has never quite recovered, but they tolerate each other for the sake of the family."

"He doesn't drink?" Louise asked.

"He does…. He doesn't get drunk."

"Not ever?" Louise asked.

"Not that I've ever seen. He doesn't like losing in senses. He's always in control of himself that one. Even on his birthdays when he stays in and has nothing and no one to worry about. Goes to bed stone cold sober."

"Is that so," Louise murmured. She stared at him from across the yard. Her head was spinning with the information. She felt a very quiet, slow building rage bubbling in her breast. She took a calming breath and raised the beer bottle to her lips.

_I'm afraid we both had a bit too much to drink last night._

_You bastard._

She looked up and he was almost to her. He was smiling at her. She smiled back.

"Having fun?" he asked.

"I am," she said. She meant it to. He gently guided her to guided her to her feet with a smile. He had a cigarette in one hand, but he held it down and away from her.

"We can head out after dinner?"

"Don't leave on my account. We can stay as long as you want." She answered. She held their hands between them and leaned forward with a smile.

"Vera doesn't know when to keep her mouth shut," he murmured to her. "Don't listen to a thing she says."

Louise smiled. She reached up and gently rubbed the corner of his mouth with a prodding thumb.

"I won't," she lied. He leaned down to kiss her but she gently nudged him back.

"Your family, Colby," she scolded.

"I'll kiss you when I want to kiss you," he replied, tugging her back. His grip on her wrist was hard but he had a smile on his face and his kiss was gentle. "And call me, Harry."

"I prefer Harold." Her lips curved into an amused and vengeful smile.

"Very well, Edna," he answered. She threaded her fingers through his.

"Can I get you anything? A drink?"

"I don't drink," he answered on impulse and slipped an arm around her. He guided them down the steps and into the grass. She took her shoes off and carried them with her as they discussed the neighborhood and circled the yard. It was nice but too crowded, he mused, and the houses weren't big enough.

"Harry bring her back!" Vera shouted from the porch. "Bring her back right now! Terrible thief."

"Stay with me," Harold said when Louise tried to return. He caught her by the wrist again, tugging her back.

"I'll be with you all night," she responded, hoping it would appear an innocent, hopeful, and timid request, instead of the confident and bold invitation that it was. He released her and she wondered back to Vera.

Harold watch her go, bringing the cigarette back to his lips for a much needed puff. Georgie was walking toward him, a lazy smile on his face.

"She's beautiful," Georgie complimented.

"I know."

"Rich."

"Was," he somewhat agreed. "Still underwater even after the sale."

Georgie was quiet a few moments. He was watching his two daughters across the yard.

"You don't think you might be," he paused. "Christ," he scratched his eyebrow with his thumb. "taking advantage?"

"Taking advantage?" Harold considered. Georgie looked off toward the girls on the porch. Donny had joined them. He was shouting about something and their sister and Colby's soon to be bride were laughing hysterically.

"She's fifteen years younger than you. That there is a child," Georgie said.

"She is no child," Harold chuckled and sucked on the end of the cigarette.

"Her mother killed herself in front of her. Her father left. She saw her brother murdered. She has no money and no home."

"So, because of a power imbalance you think I should what?" Harold asked, a bit angry.

"I'm not saying you should do anything. Just keep it in mind."

"If my intentions were less than honorable I might," he responded. "But they aren't."

"I never said they were," Georgie tried to calm him.

"I'm young, handsome, fit, rich, successful. I'll be a loyal husband and a kind husband. She couldn't hope for better than me. And that's a fucking fact."

"Harold, calm down," Georgie laughed a little. He put hands on Harold's shoulders and lifted his eyebrows. "I'm not telling you to break it off."

"Well good. Because I won't."

"You're all worked up over this girl aren't you."

"She's something special," he answered. "Don't know what that something is, but she's it."

"Look, just keep in mind she's young, probably scared about her future, and alone. She's taken with you that's clear, but remember you're the one that needs to keep your head on straight and see things clearly. You can't expect her to."

"I will," he vowed. He looked over at her.

"Good," Georgie slapped him on the back. "You have to let me be the big brother sometime," he chided. "You can't always be in control, you know."

He looked at Edna as they walked back to the porch toward their beckoning mother.

_Oh yes I can. I most certainly can._

At the end of the night, Colby watched his mother kiss Edna goodbye with a smile. She told her how hopeful she was to see her in the future and that if she ever needed anything she should not hesitate to call. They were her family too now.

There was a strange look on Edna's face as Gladys spoke. It looked almost pained. Harold was concerned the talk of family was too soon and flushed, ears hot, but she pulled his mother back for another hug and he was left comforted.

Harold got her in the car and kissed his mother one last time. He didn't speak until they were on the road and he had finished waving to his family.

"Did you have fun?" he asked.

"You have a wonderful family," she answered. She was looking at her hands thoughtfully. "They love you so much."

"We're very close," he agreed. "But did you have fun?"

"I did," she answered. She was smiling again. She scooted closer to him. "I just wish I could have spent more time with you."

He reached out and touched her thigh. He considered his brothers words and turned to look at her. It was getting dark, but he could see her clear enough, big eyes affectionate and hopeful.

He walked her to the door when they got back to the house but he kept a step or two away from her. She turned back to look at him after she opened the front door.

Well, I'll see you in a week then?" he asked.

"You won't try to come inside?" she said in surprise. He gave a half smile. Not will you come inside but try to come inside.

He cleared his throat and stepped closer. He leaned against the door frame.

"Your concern when you called me, that you thought I might not know which young lady I was speaking to... it lead me to believe, well, I think I was a bit too... forward the last time we were together. Maybe a bit too demanding? I don't want you to get the wrong idea about me."

She paused and stepped closer. She played with the bottom of his shirt as she considered.

"I just want to do what you want," she answered, turning her eyes back toward him. His lips parted and he took a controlled breath inward. He kept his outward appearance calm, but his heart rate skyrocketed at the soft, submissive words.

"What do  _you_ want, Edna?" he asked. He stepped closer and she had to take a step back into the house. He took hold of her chin. "No games."

She stepped away from him without a word and gently pulled him inside with a hand gripping his shirt.

__


	8. Chapter Eight

_**Remember when I promised (threatened) this would be like Lassoed Hearts? Well you've been warned a second time.** _

Chapter Eight:

True to his word he arrived just two days later. He gave no advance warning and she came running down the stairs in her lounging robe at his insistent knocking.

"It's eight o'clock," he said in surprise. He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.

"It is early still," she responded. He put a hand to her back and bent down for a peck to her lips.

"I've been up since five," he said.

"Is something wrong?"

"I just missed you," he removed his hat with a grin. "I rescheduled some meetings, pushed off some work. It's going to be a beautiful day. I thought we could spend a day in the city. Go to the pier? Have a nice lunch, maybe get an ice cream?"

"I never would have taken you for the spontaneous type," she observed. He just grinned.

"Would you like to go?"

"I can hardly say no, can I?" She teased, though she was a bit annoyed. "But maybe I can. I didn't have two day's notice."

"That's business, this is a social call." He took her hand and gently guided her closer. "Will you please spend the day with me, Edna?"

"I will," she answered coyly. "Let me go get dressed?"

He released her hand and she climbed the stairs. She was content to make him wait. She came down the stairs a little less than an hour later, dressed in a pretty yellow sun dress and white hat. He complimented her beauty and they walked out to the car. It was hot and there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

They made light conversation. There were no awkward pauses, no lulls in the conversations. They had just arrived in the city when he decided to reach out and hold her hand. He brought her by the houses he was thinking of buying. He listed to her opinions, but she was surprised when he asked her very bluntly which one she would prefer to live in. She answered honestly.

"We'll see," he said and winked at her as he threw the car back into drive.

"I like the house you have now though," she said.

"It's a bit small. I want a lot of children. There'd be no room for them there."

"How many children?"

"At least three," he answered. "I love having siblings to rely on, talk to… why, how many do you want?"

"One." She watched the road zip by. "Walt and I would have been much better off if the other had never been born."

'That's rather dark."

"Truth isn't always pleasant," she mused. He squeezed her hand. When he stopped the car in a parking spot he ran his fingers along her ear, tucking the hair in place gently.

"If you ever want to talk about it. You know you can talk to me," he said tenderly.

"Maybe… not yet," she said. She gave him a tiny smile.

"Let's go eat," he grinned. She waited for him to come around the other side of the car and open her door. She closed her eyes. She heard the sound of the axe sinking into her brother's chest. The door opened and she stepped outside.

"You alright, kid?" he asked her. She just nodded at him, lips curving upward slightly. "You'll like this place."

He opened the door for her and they stepped inside the restaurant. It was a nice location. Cool, dimly lit, but not so dark she could not see. The servers were well dressed and polite. The menu did not have prices and so she knew it was expensive.

She ordered a dry martini and he asked for a glass of water. She pinched her lips together.

"Did you really miss me?" she asked him. Her smirked at her.

"I did. My mother called me yesterday to tell me how much she liked you. I spent a good long while trying to come up with a reason to come see the house so I could see you before Saturday. Then I realized I didn't need a reason."

"It was a lovely surprise." She stretched out her foot and gently trailed it up his leg. He stared back, eyes twinkling. She bit her lip and giggled shyly.

The waiter arrived to take their order and she quickly took her foot away.

"Your mother likes me then?" she asked.

"They all do," he answered. "Vera sang your praises to high heaven."

She laughed genuinely. "I did like Vera very much."

"You have no other family?" he asked. She shook her head.

"None. Well, I mean some but none that I have a relationship with. I received a call from a cousin after Walt's murder. A second cousin I think. Once he found out how far into debt I was he stopped calling. So…"

"Vultures," he answered. "I had family crawling out of the woodwork after I made my fortune. Everyone's out for themselves."

"I uh… actually, I wanted to ask you a question about that…"

"About my fortune?" he asked.

"No, no," she laughed. "I don't really care about your money."

She smoothed out her eyebrow with her pointer and middle finger.

"This is somewhat embarrassing to ask… considering my behavior…"

He lifted his brows and gave a little confused shake of the head.

"Mr. Medway has sent me a lease to sign for an apartment in Manhattan. An old friend of my father will rent it to me at a rather low price. I was wondering if I should sign it…"

She cast a timid glance. He had the tiniest of smirks still on his face.

"I would… if I were you… hold off on signing any leases for the time being," he answered. He gave her a sideways smile. She smiled shyly and looked down at her drink. She giggled nervously.

"OK," she answered. "I'm sorry to ask. Mr. Medway is insisting –"

"Well you don't have to listen to Mr. Medway anymore," he cut her off. "If you have any questions, you can always run them by me. About your estate I mean. I would love to help."

"I've been trying to go through my brother's books. He made a mess of things. Next time you're at the house, if you wanted, you could go through them. Maybe you can make sense of it."

"I will," he said.

"But only if you explain the process to me," she added.

"Wouldn't think any different," he promised.

She asked sincerely, "would you actually be able to teach me? How to balance books?"

"Of course. It's not too difficult. You'd pick it up quickly. Are you interested in that?"

"It does," she answered.

They spoke briefly about his business. Kenmore managed his books mostly. Colby manage the more sensitive aspects of his company. He didn't trust others. Those were the books that she'd learn. It was frightening but excited, and she appreciated his confidence in her.

They had a nice lunch. The food was delicious. They discussed his business, what she understood of her father's, before it fell apart. He asked her quite a bit about the landscaping prior to his purchase of the house. She explained in detail, a faint, happy smile on her lips. She had loved her mother's flowers.

"Next week a landscaping team will be the house. They'll be under your direction."

"Will you be present?" she asked.

"I can be," he said.

"I'd prefer it if you were," she admitted. She then lied, "I'm still a bit jumpy there since it happened…"

"I'll be there," he promised. He pulled his wallet from pocket and pulled out some bills. He tossed them down on the table and stood.

"Walk along the pier?" he asked her. "You can go into some of the stores?"

"I don't want to bore you." She pulled on his suit jacket and smiled flirtatiously. "Once I go in I might never come out."

"Will you be enjoying yourself?" he asked. She nodded. "Then so will I. Go."

He nudged her along gently. He held her hand as he walked her to the car and stole a quick kiss as he opened her door.

She was as good as her word. Back in a store, she could not browse enough. Silk gloves, lace dresses, pearls, bracelets, earrings, china plates, it didn't matter what store they were in.

"This would look lovely with that little cocktail dress you wore," he mused once, picking up a rather tasteful, but expensive necklace. He held it against her throat and looked at her in the mirror. She pressed her fingers to the jewels.

"It's beautiful," she murmured.

"You like it?" he asked.

"What woman wouldn't?" she asked. He took the necklace back without a word. She thoroughly enjoyed herself trying on the hats. She put a flamboyantly large woman's sun hat on his head. To her surprise he did not rip it off and give her a bemused glare. He threw on a pair of female sun glasses and looked in the mirror.

"I like it," he told her. She giggled and he placed a man's fedora on her head.

"You actually good in that," he praised, removing the hat and glasses from his head. She took off the fedora and put it on his head.

"You look so handsome," she praised. He examined himself.

"I like my homburg," he muttered.

"Stop pouting," she grinned. "I like it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she mimicked.

"In this color?"

"The tawny is too light. The black," she said. She picked up a different hat and put it on his head. He examined himself in the mirror and gave an approved nod. She was grinning as he wore it out of the store. She had her arms around his arm, both her hands holding onto his hand.

"Want that ice cream now?" he asked.

"One more store?" she asked. She bit her lip. " _Pleease."_

"Fine," he pretended to be begrudging, but she could see the twinkle in his eye. When they left the ice cream parlor she insisted he drop her off at Sam's. He wanted her to come home with him, but she refused. She didn't want a scandal. He agreed, seemed to understand. He kissed her goodbye at the door of Sam's flat. His hands held her firmly. He put his tongue into her mouth. He bit her lip. She pushed him back and told him she couldn't. Not in Sam's bed. He understood but left rather coldly. She didn't sleep the rest of the night.

It was at exactly eight in the morning that she picked up Sam's phone and dialed his home number. She received no answer. Not a moment after she hung up the phone did she hear the knock on the door. She whipped it open. His eyebrows rose.

"Well good morning," he chuckled.

"Good morning," she breathed a sigh of relief.

"I thought I'd take you to breakfast before you went home?"

"I'd love to. Just let me grab my bag," she said. "Will you be driving me home today?"

"I'd prefer you stay in the city, but it's up to you of course."

"I wouldn't mind staying."

He kissed her and put his hat to his head. It was the fedora. They had a nice, light breakfast. Everything seemed rather light, back to the way it had been before. They stayed at the café until about eleven before they returned to his townhouse.

"I wanted to show you yesterday," he said as he unlocked the door. "But you were rather insistent about  _not_ coming home with me."

"Oh, I just, um –"

"Don't worry," he chuckled. "I understand your concerns."

"These are yours," he said, holding out an arm. She found a stack of boxes by the stairs.

"What are…"

"Everything you said you liked yesterday. I had wrapped up and delivered. I took the liberty of buying you a few dresses I wanted to see you in." He came to stand behind her, hands on her hips. He kissed her neck gently. "I hope you don't mind?"

"No, I… not at all," she answered. "I can't believe you… Harold, you shouldn't have spent so much on me."

"You never once asked me for a thing. It made buying them for you all the more enjoyable," he said. He put his hands in his pockets and watched her with a smug smile. She searched through the boxes, lips parting.

"Oh! This dress, you bought it!" she cried in delight. "I can wear this to Louis' birthday party."

"When is that?"

"August the fourth. Did you know –"

"I'll be out of town that week," he told her.

"Oh no. That's a shame. He would have loved for you to attend. I'll make sure he understands why you couldn't be there."

"You won't go if I don't go," he said. She looked up at him.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Why would you go to a party I cannot attend?" he asked. His face was serious, eyes hard.

"Why would I not?" she asked. She got to her feet.

"Because I can't go," he said as though she were insane.

"Harold, I… these are my friends. I have to go."

" _No._ You don't," he said. "I'm not comfortable with it."

"Why in the world –"

"I've seen you at parties, Edna," he said simply. Her face flushed. She swallowed thickly.

"How dare you," she accused. "You… you took advantage."

"Took. Advantage?" he asked, taking an aggressive step toward her. "You practically  _begged_ for it."

"You're a liar," she accused.

"You're not going. You're my girl and you're not going."

"You can't make that decision for me."

"Can't I?" he asked.

"No."

"You need to learn how to take direction."

"I don't like being told what to do."

"If you want to be  _my woman._ You'll do what I tell you to do. If you have a problem with that you can get out."

Her hands trembled. Her face was flushed. She seethed with rage.

"Then I'll leave!" she shouted. "I'll  _fucking_ leave. You son of a  _bitch_."

She started off toward the door. She didn't expect to get there. She had no idea how she would get home if he did let her out of the house. She didn't have the funds. She expected him to run after her, pleading with her to stop, apologizing for his behavior, and promising her it would never happen again. She did not expect his hand to wrap around her wrist and pull her back to him with a violent yank of his arm. She slammed into his chest with a quick exhale of breath.

"Watch your  _fucking_ mouth," he snapped back. She pulled her hand back and swung. She slapped him hard. She hit him so hard her hand hurt when she lowered it down. His hand wrapped around her free wrist and he walked forward, pushing her along. They stopped when she could go no further. Her bottom was touching the top of the receiving table. Her back arched and he leaned over her, eyes on fire. " _Don't. hit. Me."_

She tried to wrench herself free. He pushed closer to her. He wrestled her hands together, crossing them in front of her chest and pushed her hard into the table. He pressed against her and her lips parted. Her eyes had been wide since the moment he shoved her against the table, but the shock deepened. She felt his erection, hard, large, and hot against her.

"You don't tell me what to do," she told him defiantly, bringing her face close to his. She leaned back, ready to storm off defiantly once again, but he held true. She felt a tiny sliver of fear. Her father would never have raised a hand to her mother, Walt had been cruel but never violent. She had no idea what this man was willing to do.

"If you want to be my woman you'll do  _exactly_ what I fucking tell you to do," he seethed. She struggled again. He held her true. "You need to learn some respect,  _Edna."_

There was something in his gaze. Anger. Rage. Fury. His cheeks were flushed. Something quivered below his eye. She remembered how it felt the night he pushed her down on the bed, with far more force than was necessary. The little bites, just too hard on her lips. His hand in her hair, pulling just too hard. Getting her drunk… doing as he pleased.

She leaned in toward him, lips almost on his, and she said through a set jaw and gritted teeth. "Make. Me."

He stared. He blinked. She wrenched her hand free. Her hand collided with his face again. She used all the force she could muster. He stared at her. She tried to hit him again but he caught her by the wrist. She stared him square in the eye, lifted her chin and said, "Come on then. Be a man. Make me."

His hand closed over her chin. His hand fingers pressed into her neck and face, pushing her back against the wall. He was strong. It was hard. He clearly didn't fear hurting her.

"Oh. I'll make you. I'll fucking make you," he gritted out between clenched teeth. He kept his hand on her face. He used his other hand to hike up her skirt. "Fucking… be a man…fucking bitch…"

He yanked at her stockings. He tore them apart. They ended up a torn mess around her ankles. His movements were violent but frenzied. There was no control. Simply pure masculine force. She could see the desire in his eyes. This was not simply rage. There was a pure, sexual desire in his eyes. Though it was what she had been counting on, it took her aback none the less. What a perverse, twisted man.

With a bruising grip on her thighs he yanked her forward on the table and flipped her over. He pressed her face down on the table. His hand closed around her hair. It hurt but what bothered her the most now was she could not see his face. She could not read the situation. She felt powerless. He bunched up her skirt and yanked down her panties. As he fumbled with his belt, she readied herself for the impending penetration. It was going to hurt. It would be humiliating. It would be painful. But it would only make her hate him more and she welcomed it. It would give her something to drown out the image of his mother gently pulling on his cheeks and gazing at her son with pride and adoration.

To say she was shocked when she felt the leather belt land hard against her skin with a painful  _thwack_ would have been an understatement. She stood there stunned, lips parted, eyes wide. He hit her again. A sound left him. A low, hoarse breath. His fingers brushed against the burning red stripe now striped across her pale flesh.

"H-Harold."

"Quiet," he barked. "You want to behave like a child, you'll be treated like one."

He hit her again. Harder this time. She bit down on her tongue, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of the yelp of pain fighting to burst free. She'd never been hit before, not even so much as a light spanking over her dress as a little girl. She struggled again, truly trying to escape him. He pressed her down harder. The belt came down harder. A cry finally passed her lips.

He was breathing hard. Almost panting. He hit her again. Harder. It brought tears to her eyes. She cried out with each strike.

"Please stop now, oh! Please," she begged against the table.

"Please," he taunted. He struck her again. "Where's your pride now, Edna?"

"Oh, please, Har-Harold," she panted. His voice was hoarse and taut. There was a tiny tremble to it. Something changed in her the moment she heard it. It was thrilling. He could try and exert control with brute force, but unknowingly, with that condescending little question, he'd but every ounce of power right into the fragile little hands currently clinging to the table beneath her with white knuckles and red fingertips. She softened her voice and begged, "Mr. Colby, please."

She heard the belt hit the floor. Relief washed over her. His hands gripped her waist. He entered her slowly. He groaned. His finger tips dug deeply into her skin. One of his hands closed around her shoulder. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of him inside of her and the wood against her cheek. He was content for a few minutes but apparently became discontented with her lack of attention. He pulled her up into a standing position. He used the table as leverage and held her closer to him. His hand wrapped around her throat.

She felt another thrill of excitement. His other arm wrapped around her middle, holding her arms down by her side. He held her tightly. It was tight enough to cause discomfort but she felt only a hot flame of desire in her belly. His nose pressed to her cheek and he panted. His thrusts grew more frenzied. Her hips knocked against the table.

"Mr. Colby, please," he taunted against her face. It was hoarse, forced around between hard breaths.

"Please," she whispered back. His arms flexed and his hips jerked. He kissed her cheek. Openmouthed and wet. He bit her cheek. The more aggressive he became, the more power she possessed. "I'm sorry," she lamented.

He groaned through clenched teeth. The hand on her throat moved upward. He gripped her jaw and turned her face. He kissed her. Hard. Wet. Demanding.

"Harold?" she moaned against his mouth.

"Mr. Colby," he panted. Blood rushed through her limbs.

"Mr. Colby," she whispered between kisses. "Oh, Mr. Colby."

"What do you want?" he asked.

"More, please," she whispered. "Harder."

He growled and released her. He bent her over again. He used a hard grip on her hips. The table slammed against the wall with each thrust and something about the violent, frenzied manner in which he sought his climax, sent a vicious crash of ecstasy rushing through her. It was like nothing shed ever felt before and it came from her lips loudly. The sound of her orgasm brought his hand to her hair. He pulled hard. A grimace came to her face but it did nothing to dull the left over feeling of bliss clouding her brain. Once finished, he remained inside of her a few moments, hunched over the desk and breathing a bit hard. Once he steadied himself he withdrew. He took a few steps back and leaned against the opposite wall.

She straightened herself and smooth out her skirts. She bent down to collect her ruined stockings and pull her underwear back up her legs. He retrieved a cigarette from his pocket his hands were shaking.

"Will you loan me a few dollars to replace these?" she asked him, breaking the silence in the room. He took a deep drag of the cigarette and forced it from his lungs before answering. He nodded and reached into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. She waited until he was counting out the dollars to say, "please don't hand me money right now."

He looked up, considered, and then cleared his throat.

"I didn't mean for that to um…"

"I know," she laughed nervously. "Um… I'd like to take a bath."

"I'll run the water," he said and moved passed her. She followed him up the stairs. Neither said a word. He ran the water in the bathroom. He made sure it wasn't too hot for her. He told her where the soap and towels were and then exited the room.

When she came back downstairs he was seated at the kitchen table still smoking. His face was blank but his eyes were thoughtful. She sat down, fighting off a small grimace, and waited. She wasn't sure what to say but she knew he was far more uncomfortable than she was. She'd never felt quite so pleased in her life.

"I have certain… deviant desires," he began after a few long moments of silence. He was looking at the table in front of him. He scratched the surface with a nail.

"I know," she answered plainly. He was silent a long while. He was looking at the table still. He was either searching for the right words or trying to summon the courage to say them. She was content to wait.

"The woman I would marry… she would be expected to…" he swallowed thickly. "See to those desires… no matter how… perverse they might be."

"Naturally," she responded. He looked up at that. "It is a wife's duty."

She wondered what might have happened if the fight had not occurred. Would he have married her, only to surprise her with this deviancy on their wedding night? Deviant and devious both.

"Would you like me to call for Kenmore to bring you home?" he asked. She waited. He was offering her an out, which made the question hold even more wait. He was giving her only two options. That was most clear. Accept his perversions or leave.

"No, I would like to stay," she answered. He nodded slowly.

"I have work to do but I will be free in the evening. We could listen to records…"

"I would like that."

He stood and made for the hallway. He paused at her chair. He put a finger to her chin, gently bringing her gaze to him.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked softly. She gave a tiny smile.

"It was… not un-pleasurable," she told him. He pressed his lips together and swallowed hard again. His tongue darted out to wet his dry lips. He walked past her. Her back was to him when she asked, "what would you like for dinner?"

He paused in the doorway. He did not turn to look at her either.

"Steak. And potatoes."

"Five o'clock?"

"Fick o'clock," he answered. Once he was in his office with the door closed, she made no attempt to keep the triumphant grin from her puffy lips.


End file.
